


A Matter of Blood

by BellatrixLives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixLives/pseuds/BellatrixLives
Summary: A shocking discovery turns Hermione's world completely upside down, challenging everything she thought she knew, and sending her right into the clutches of her enemies.





	1. Chapter 1

Humming quietly to herself, Hermione fills the kitchen sink with warm, soapy water, preparing to wash the dinner dishes.

It hardly seems real to her, being back home as if nothing has changed, after all that she learned this last year; the mundane task of doing dishes seems to tether her to reality.

_How long do I have?_ She wonders.  _How long before the war rears into full-blown chaos?_

It's all been set in motion, and has been since last year at the Department of Mysteries, when the world could no longer deny the return of Lord Voldemort.

Now, after Harry and Dumbledore have started on the path to finding and destroying all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, it can't be long until the whole world starts to go to hell.

_Not as if it hasn't already started, I suppose. With all of the strange disappearances, and murders, but at least we don't have complete warfare yet._

_Families fighting in the streets and all…_

Hermione finds herself worrying, not for the first time, about whether Voldemort knows or not that Harry is closing in on him.

_Can he feel it? When part of his soul is destroyed? He knows about the diary, but could he feel the destruction of the ring and the locket?_

"What do you think you are doing, young lady?"

Hermione jumps, sloshing water down her front.

"Mum! Don't sneak up on me like that," she chides playfully, turning to find her mother leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.

"I wasn't trying to," her mother sighs, "I was just trying to find where my daughter disappeared to, and here you are, doing chores. I thought I told you not to worry about those?"

Mrs. Granger crosses the kitchen and stands next to Hermione, reaching to take the plate and washcloth she's currently holding.

"Most parents would be pleased to find their daughter wanting to help around the house," Hermione insists, handing off the washcloth and beginning to rinse the plate.

"Yes, well  _most_ parents don't have a brilliant witch for a daughter. A brilliant witch, who I might add, spent the last several months working her tail off at school to, once again, make top of her class."

"Mum, I really—"

"No, I won't hear it. Go sit down, love. Relax for a change," Mrs. Granger instructs.

Hermione opens her mouth to argue, but a stern look from her mother shuts her down, and she slumps off to the front room.

_It's not exactly like I can tell her, no thanks, mum… I'd rather not relax; it gives me too much time to contemplate the impending war I haven't told you about. Oh, no, don't worry, there is just some crazy murderous bigot who hates people like me and wants us all dead._

_Yes, that conversation would go lovely._

She's just about to curl up in front of the telly and find a news program, when she hears a knock on the front door.

"I've got it!" Hermione calls into the kitchen, on her way to answer the door.

_It's getting a bit late for—_

She pulls the door open, only to find her stomach drop.

Hermione is face to face with Narcissa Malfoy.

Not pausing to think, Hermione draws her wand from the sleeve of her sweater and aims it squarely at Narcissa's chest.

"Now, my dear, is that any way to treat family?" Narcissa asks with a sardonic smirk.

Blinking in confusion, Hermione tightens her grip on her wand, her free hand slipping into her pocket.

"What… what are you doing here?" she asks.

"I've come to take you home."

In her pocket, Hermione's hand closes around the galleon she is always sure to carry.

"I'm not going  _anywhere_ with you," Hermione scoffs.

_Send Help – H.G._

The galleon grows warm in her palm, and she feels the slightest flare of relief, knowing that surely  _someone_ will come.

"Put that away, dear," Narcissa tells her wearily, nodding at Hermione's wand. "I'm not here to hurt you. There is, however, a conversation we need to have, and I daresay you may not find it the most comfortable."

Hermione lowers her wand slightly, but doesn't relax her stance. She has to admit, only to herself of course, that she is extremely curious about what could have brought Narcissa Malfoy to her front door.

Common sense keeps her curiosity in check; whatever this woman may want, she is the wife of a Death Eater, a follower of Lord Voldemort, and not to be trusted.

"May I come in?" Narcissa inquires.

She almost sounds offended, as if it is Hermione's poor manners keeping her on the doorstep and not her affiliations.

"Hermione, who is it?"

Mrs. Granger comes walking in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel, her eyes darting from the aristocratic stranger in their door, to Hermione, to Hermione's wand.

"Mrs. Granger, I presume?" Narcissa inquires.

"Mum—" Hermione starts, not sure what to say.

" _Run and hide" would probably lead to far too many questions later._

"Yes," her mother says, stepping forward to offer her hand in hello. "And you are?"

"My name is Narcissa Malfoy. Your— Hermione is in the same year as my son, Draco, at school. I was hoping to speak with you. All three of you, supposing your husband is home."

Mrs. Granger's eyes tighten slightly, and Hermione knows she is remembering all of the things she's been told about Draco Malfoy.

_She doesn't know half of it._

Despite the warning look on Hermione's face, her mother nods and gives a polite smile.

"Yes, of course. Please come in."

Narcissa nods her thanks, and slips in past a panicking Hermione.

_Please, please, please someone had to have gotten my message._

She would prefer of all the D.A. members still carrying their coins, that Ron be the one to find her plea. Arthur should be home from work at this time, and could contact other members of the Order.

_Calm down, Hermione,_ she tells herself as she closes the door.  _She is one woman._

_One woman with an escaped-from-prison-Death-Eater husband._

"Darling," Mrs. Granger calls upstairs, "could you come down please, we have company."

With that, she leads Narcissa into their sitting room, Hermione trailing close behind, wand still drawn.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?" Mrs. Granger offers, gesturing for Narcissa to take a seat.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Narcissa settles herself onto the very edge of the beige upholstered settee, while Mrs. Granger sits down beside her, and Hermione takes a seat on the sofa opposite them.

Hermione rests her wand across her lap in plain sight, and bristles slightly at the look Narcissa gives her.

A tolerant smile one gives to children while going along with their silly games.

They sit in silence until Hermione's father arrives.

"Mr. Granger? I'm Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione goes to school with my son Draco."

"Pleasure to meet you," Mr. Granger says genially, clearly missing the tension in the room as he offers his hand to shake.

"How can we help you, Mrs. Malfoy?" Mrs. Granger asks, cutting to the chase as her husband takes a seat beside Hermione.

"I'm sorry," Narcissa tells them, and if Hermione didn't know her to be one of the most composed women ever, she would almost think she sounded…  _flustered._ "I'm not sure where to begin."

The Grangers wait, Mrs. Granger now watching her guest with almost as much suspicion as Hermione, and Mr. Granger still smiling politely.

"To think you've been so close all these years," Narcissa sighs, turning to Hermione. "I've often thought of you, knowing you would be Draco's age, but I… I never knew you were…"

She pauses, closing her eyes to compose herself.

When she opens them again, they seem oddly shiny, almost as if she is about to cry.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione begins, more confused than ever, "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

_Maybe she's been confunded? Maybe this is a distraction while our house is surrounded._

"Hermione," Narcissa begins again, "I'm your aunt."

Staring unblinkingly at the woman across from her, Hermione still doesn't understand.

"That's not… that doesn't…" she stumbles, looking to her parents. "Neither of you have any siblings. This must be some mistake."

The smile slips from her father's face, and when she turns to her mother, Hermione finds her sitting stiffly, staring at their guest.

"Haven't you been curious? Certainly it can't come as a surprise to you that you come from a magical family? Honestly, I must admit I'm surprised you did not research into this before now. When I think of all of the time we've lost—"

"Research into what? There is no magic in my family! I'm the first witch to be born into the Granger family," Hermione argues.

"My dear… you don't know?" Narcissa whispers. "They never told you?"

"That's enough!" Mrs. Granger exclaims, standing up. "I think you have overstayed your welcome."

"Told me what?" Hermione presses, ignoring her mother.

"You were not  _born_  into the Granger family. You were adopted," Narcissa explains.

Time seems to freeze.

"No. That can't be right," Hermione argues, shaking her head back and forth. "Tell her she's mistaken."

Mrs. Granger won't meet her daughter's eyes, and Mr. Granger looks as if he is going to be sick.

"Dad?"

"Hermione," he responds quietly, "this isn't how we wanted you to find out."

He reaches for her hand but Hermione pulls away, jumping to her feet, still clutching her wand tightly.

Her head is spinning, and she feels like she's going to be sick.

"It's true? I'm— I'm adopted and you never told me? And… as if that isn't bad enough, you hid my magical history?"

"No!" her mother finally speaks up. "We wanted to wait and tell you when you turned eighteen. And I swear to you, Hermione, we didn't know you  _had_ a magical history. Not for sure."

_No. None of this makes sense. I… I look like my mother. I don't look anything like…_

"Did you say… aunt?" Hermione asks, turning back to Narcissa.

She can feel all of the color drain from her face.

As if reading her mind, Narcissa smiles reassuringly.

"Yes, dear, but don't fret. It isn't my sweet sister, Bellatrix."

Wracking her brain, Hermione recalls the Black Family Tapestry at Grimmauld Place.

"Andromeda?"

Narcissa arches an eyebrow, seemingly impressed.

"I had no idea you were so well versed in our family tree. Andromeda was disowned, and likes to keep her distance, so I doubt her familial affiliations come up much in conversation," she says, "but alas, no. Not Andromeda."

"Then I don't understand, because I don't remember any other Black sisters from the tapestry."

"Ah, that old thing. Yes, I'm sure your mother was not on there."

Hermione blanches at the term "mother", still not ready to accept anything she's told as fact.

"Tell me what you  _think_ you know about me," she demands, trying to sound firm, and brave, but unable to keep the quiver from her voice.

"I had another sister," Narcissa begins. "Her name was Lisette. She was the youngest of the four of us, just a year below me in school. She was… headstrong. You may or may not know this, but many of the old wizarding families, especially those among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, have arranged marriages."

Hermione recalls reading the term "Sacred Twenty-Eight" in an old wizarding genealogy book. It refers to the twenty-eight ancient families believed to be of the purest blood. To be among them is akin to being royalty, at least among the bigots who hold such standards still.

The Weasleys are among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she remembers, though Arthur quickly changed the subject when she asked him about it last summer. He spent half the morning mumbling under his breath about crazy supremacists.

"Lisette was no exception, nor was the man she fell in love with. They were both promised to others."

"What happened?" Hermione asks, in spite of herself.

"They had an affair. That's not what got her disowned, mind you; affairs are common enough among the elite. How could they not be when marriages are made for connections rather than desires?"

Hermione scowls.

"Lisette broke the rules of etiquette. She got pregnant, and she refused to… take care of the matter. She demanded to break her engagement and convinced the father to do the same. He obliged her, but before they could marry, he was killed."

"What was his name?"

"Duncan Rosier."

_Rosier… Rosier… oh…_

"He was killed by aurors," Hermione asks, "wasn't he? For being a Death Eater?"

Looking regretful, Narcissa nods.

"Yes," she says. "It broke my sister. She ran away, disgraced and distraught. Several months later her… body was found. She hung herself. No one knew what happened to the baby. Until now."

Dizzy, and in shock Hermione sits back down next to her— next to the man she's called father all her life.

"This can't be true," she murmurs. "That would mean that I'm… I'm not a muggle-born?"

Narcissa smiles affectionately.

"No, my dear. You are a pureblood. A bastard, yes," she shrugs, "but that is hardly of consequence with blood as pure as yours."

Before she can think of a smart remark, there are several loud  _cracks_  from the kitchen, and Hermione jumps back to her feet.

She twists around, wand held ready, aimed at the kitchen doorway. However when she sees who it is, she could almost cry with relief.

Dumbledore is here, and he's brought Arthur and Remus. All three have their wands drawn.

"Thank Merlin!" she exclaims, rushing over to the three.

"What business do you have here tonight, Narcissa?" Dumbledore asks, jumping right to the point.

"What a welcoming party," Narcissa replies. "Quite unnecessary, I assure you. My visit shall be brief. I only came to collect my niece, as her guardianship falls to me."

Remus and Arthur exchange confused looks, but Dumbledore's stare doesn't waiver.

"Explain to me what you speak of," he demands.

So she does. Narcissa retells the tale Lisette and Duncan, the star-crossed psychopaths as far as Hermione is concerned, and explains how Lisette's whereabouts were traced to a muggle orphanage, and from there to Hermione Granger.

Sometime during the story, Arthur's hand finds Hermione's, while Remus rests another protective hand on her shoulder.

She is so thankful they are both here. Arthur has always treated Hermione as a member of his own family, and Remus has looked out for her many times as well.

"You know I cannot allow you to walk out of here tonight with Miss Granger, Narcissa," Dumbledore comments once the story is told.

"I know you cannot stop me. She is my blood, and belongs with me. You know that no silly little muggle paperwork outweighs that of our own laws! Hermione is a  _Black_. She is also, may I remind you, underage still."

"Only by about two and a half months," Hermione pipes up.

"Be that as it may, I am your legal guardian until that point in time, and you will come with me."

"I assume you can prove this is not all a ruse?" Dumbledore presses.

"Of course," Narcissa replies, pulling a small vial from her cloak. "I've brought a paternity elixir. Hermione and I must both prick our fingers and submit a drop of blood, and it will reveal the truth."

"If it glows silver it would mean direct parentage, if it glows gold it means close familial match, blue means distant relatives, and no reaction means no connection," Remus explains.

Dumbledore takes the small vial, filled with lilac liquid and studies it closely. He inspects the color, and uncorking the lid he tests the smell.

"I am satisfied it is indeed an untampered with vial of paternity elixir," he announces, passing the container back to Narcissa.

She withdraws a small silver dagger, almost half the size of your average letter opener, and uses it to prick her index finger. Narcissa presses around the small cut until she is pleased with the size of the blood droplet, and then taps her injured finger on the mouth of the vial.

Hermione watches as the tiny scarlet drop of blood disappears into the lilac hue of the potion, which begins to softly bubble.

Narcissa hold both the dagger and the vial out to Hermione, who doesn't move from where she stands between Arthur and Remus.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore urges.

Swallowing thickly she takes the offered items. Following Narcissa's actions exactly, she pricks her finger, and expresses a drop into the bubbling liquid.

As the potion begins to glow golden, Hermione's heart shatters.

"Welcome to the family, my dear Miss Black," Narcissa tells her sweetly.

Feeling nauseous, Hermione turns and rushes for the Loo, shoving the elixir and dagger into Remus' arms before she flees.

She locks the door behind her and drops to her knees in front of the porcelain bowl, losing all the contents of her stomach.

_This can't be happening to. There is some mistake. I'm not one of them. My parents… my parents are… liars._

She sobs noiselessly into the crook of her arm, her elbow propped on the edge of the toilet bowl.

_How could they not tell me I was adopted? It's not like it would have changed anything! They are still my parents! They raised me for Merlin's sake, with so much love and affection… and so many lies._

Hermione isn't sure what the worst part of this whole ordeal is. Finding out her parents have lied to her throughout her entire life, or discovering that Narcissa Malfoy and –  _oh, god_  – Bellatrix Lestrange are her aunts.

_This isn't real. It can't be._

"Hermione? May I come in?"

It's Arthur.

After wiping her tears away, Hermione stretches over to unlock the door.

"Come in," she rasps.

Arthur steps in, closing the door behind him, staring at her with so much sympathy in his eyes she can hardly bear it.

"Is this really happening?" she asks him, knowing Arthur to be the last person who would ever lie to her.

"Yes, and I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could do, or say, to help you, but I'm afraid I'm a bit useless," he apologizes.

"Don't say that. You're not useless."

"You may not feel that way in a moment. I don't know how to say this, I'm not— this is not… She wasn't lying, Hermione, about any of it. Legally, Mrs. Malfoy is your guardian until you come of age, and… there is nothing we can do to prevent her from taking you home with her."

Hermione's veins seem to fill with ice water, and her already upside-down world begins to spin faster.

"I—I— I turn seventeen in just over two months!"

"And at that point you will be free to go wherever you choose."

"But until then, I have to go with  _her_?" she questions. "There is nothing that can be done?"

"If there were, I swear to you, I would already be doing it," Arthur promises.

Hermione nods, throat going completely dry.

"I know you would."

Arthur offers his hand to Hermione and she takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

Taking a deep breath, she almost believes she is ready for this, but the weight of her situation hits her once more and her face crumples.

"Shh, shh," Arthur comforts as she throws herself into his arms.

He pats her back gently, until she finally begins to regain composure.

Arthur has always been like a second father to her —  _third father_ , her brain corrects, and she is thankful he is here tonight.

They exit the bathroom and return to the sitting room.

Narcissa is sitting as primly as ever, her expression a cool mask.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger are sitting side-by-side holding one another, in a display that  _would_ break Hermione's heart if their lies hadn't already done that.

Remus seems highly uncomfortable, standing on the far side of the room, scanning the scene constantly, eyes darting from windows to doors, as if still expecting this all to be an elaborate set-up.

Dumbledore is waiting where he stood when Hermione fled, his normal genial face more stern than she's ever seen it.

"Has Arthur explained the situation to you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asks her.

Hermione nods timidly.

"I can understand your hesitation, considering the events occurring in our world right now, and the  _loyalties_  of those present tonight," Dumbledore says. "So, despite not being able to prevent your departure with Mrs. Malfoy, I can ensure your safety."

Narcissa scoffs from behind Dumbledore.

"Really, Headmaster? I have no intent of harming the child, she is blood after all."

"Be that as it may you should have no objections as to the charm I shall place over her."

Narcissa sighs, but holds her hands up in acquiescence.

Dumbledore withdraws his wand from his belt and conjures a small silver ring from thin air.

He takes Hermione's hand and slips the ring onto her right ring finger.

Waving his wand in delicate swirling motions above the ring, he begins to chant under his breath.

When he's done, he tucks his wand away and turns to Narcissa.

"If any physical harm of malicious intent befalls Miss Hermione Black, she shall be instantly transported to my side," he explains.

Hermione's empty stomach flops as she hears Dumbledore refer to her as  _Black_ …  _hearing it from him makes it sound so much more real._

"Very well," Narcissa agrees. "Is that all? It is getting rather late."

Professor Dumbledore turns to face Hermione again and she knows the time has come.

She has to leave.

"I'll send someone for your things," Narcissa assures Hermione, "but we really need to be on our way."

Hermione doesn't know what to say as she looks from person to person in the room.

When her eyes land on her parents… her adoptive parents, she can think of nothing to say.

She knows it is cruel to leave without saying anything to them, but a tiny part of her  _wants_ to be cruel, after all the lies, and so she turns away from everyone and walks out the front door.

The delicate clicking of heels tells her Narcissa is close behind her.

_It's just another adventure,_  she tries to tell herself,  _and you've been on plenty of those._

No matter what she tells herself though, as Narcissa's arm intertwines with hers, Hermione feels as if she is in mourning.

As the knot in her stomach grows ever tighter, she realizes she  _is_  in mourning, because Hermione Granger just died.

 


	2. Chapter Two

Pressure squeezes in from all sides, pushing and pulling Hermione in different directions until – _crack-_ they apparate just outside a large iron gate.

If she hadn't already been sick, Hermione suspects she would be right now.

Narcissa gives Hermione a moment to compose herself, before withdrawing her wand and flicking it at the gate before them.

The iron bars become smoke, and Narcissa leads them straight through it.

Glancing back, Hermione watches as the bars solidify once more, sealing her inside the impenetrable Malfoy Estate.

She stays close to Narcissa as they travel up the stone path, neither speaking.

There is a loud cry on her right and Hermione jumps, startled.

"Just the peacocks, dear," Narcissa reassures her.

Sure enough, Hermione turns to see two enormous white peacocks strutting about in the evening light.

When she looks back up the path, her breath catches in her throat as the house comes into sight.

_House… I don't think that quite describes it._

Malfoy Manor is one of the largest private dwellings Hermione has ever seen.

_You could fit the whole east wing of Hogwarts in there,_  she muses, unable to hide her awe.

Narcissa leads Hermione up the great stone steps to the front doors, which swing open of their own accord, giving way to an extravagant marble entryway.

"Welcome home," Narcissa says, gesturing Hermione in ahead of her.

_How is any of this really happening?_

Inside the entryway, staring at the lavish décor and high vaulted ceiling, Hermione feels very small, and very insecure.

She looks to the staircase in front of her, half expecting to find Lucius Malfoy staring her down, but no,  _of course he's not here._

_He's wanted by the ministry for escaping from prison; surely the last place he would ever come is home._

"Are you alright?" Narcissa asks, and then continues on to answer her own question. "That was a silly question. Of course you aren't alright. All you've ever known has crumbled before your eyes in the last two hours."

Not quite able to hide her mistrust, Hermione unconsciously twists the ring Dumbledore gave her.

"I assure you, no harm will come to you here," Narcissa says, trying to sound reassuring. "I know you don't trust me, or my family, and I can hardly blame you, but I do hope you will grow to be happy here. After all, there is nothing more important than family."

"Except perhaps beliefs?" Hermione remarks, unable to hold her tongue. "I doubt Andromeda is the only one keeping her distance. You haven't exactly sought her out, have you?"

The welcoming expression Narcissa is wearing slips into one of carved stone and she becomes unreadable.

"There is much more history than can be learned through a tattered tapestry, so I would ask you not make assumptions unfounded."

Chided, Hermione can't meet the other woman's eyes.

"Would you perhaps like to learn more about our family history?"

"I— yes, I suppose," Hermione admits, "but it's all… a bit much? Perhaps it can wait?"

"Of course. I understand," Narcissa assures her, slipping once more into the role of welcoming hostess. "I'll show you to your room."

Up the marble staircase, to the left, and down several long corridors they go, not stopping until they get to what Narcissa explains is the guest wing.

The second door on the right opens to reveal Hermione's new bedroom.

"I'll leave you to get settled in," Narcissa tells her. "Your things should be here by morning. If you need anything just call for Kinny, she's one of our house-elves. She'll take care of you."

Too overwhelmed to think of S.P.E.W., Hermione just nods.

Narcissa looks like she wants to say something else, but doesn't, instead showing herself out and leaving Hermione alone to explore her new accommodations.

It's at least three times the size of her bedroom back home.

She had half expected to walk in and find everything decorated in black and green, so it's a pleasant surprise to instead find the room accented with warm colors of beige and cream.

To her right lies an ornately carved four-poster bed, with a silver backdrop behind the headboard.

Off to the side, Hermione is pleased to see a little sitting area. The wall curves outward, lined with windows, almost surrounding a cushy looking powder blue sofa.

_That looks like a great reading spot…_

She shakes her head, annoyed with herself.

_Just because it is dressed as a dream, doesn't erase the fact this is a nightmare._

Sighing sadly, she traces her fingers along the flowered vine patterns on the wall, and crosses the room away from the bed.

A fireplace is centered on the opposite wall, with a great mirrored armoire on it's right, and door to the left.

Opening the door, unable to quell her curiosity, Hermione discovers an en suite bathroom that takes her breath away.

In the center of the room, set into a raised marble pedestal is a bathtub big enough for three. She shakes her head at the pillars surrounding the tub, and retreats back into the bedroom.

_None of this changes anything,_  she promises herself, dropping onto the edge of her new bed.  _I would trade all the luxuries in the world to go back to how things were just this morning._

Looking around the large room, Hermione hugs herself, suddenly feeling very alone.

_I wish the boys were here._

_Do they know what's happened? Surely Ron does, Arthur must have told him, but what about Harry?_

She finds herself hoping her friends won't do anything rash, like attempting to come to her rescue.

_This isn't something I can be rescued from. Besides, Dumbledore promised I'll be protected._

Fiddling once more with the ring he gave her, Hermione raises her hand to inspect it. There are small runes engraved all around it, most of them she doesn't recognize, but a few she does, and she recalls them being used in old safety wards.

_You don't see physical wards very often anymore, not since they fell out of favor in the late 1700s. Magical wards that don't need to be tethered to an object are much more powerful,_  she recites to herself.

Falling back on the bed she rolls her eye.

_Things get tough and you recite ancient, useless, facts. Typical._

Despite her self-depreciation, Hermione feels a bit better, as she always does when focusing on the things she's studied.

She doesn't remember falling asleep.

One minute she's staring at the molded ceiling, trying to recall the twelve uses for dragon's blood, and the next she's jumping to her feet after hearing the crack of apparation.

"S—Sorry, Miss," a wide-eyed house house-elf exclaims. "I was not meaning to frighten you. Mistress was wanting me to bring Miss her breakfast."

Clutching her chest, willing her heart to slow, Hermione stares at the little elf in front of her.

"You're Kinny, right?" she asks the elf.

"Yes, Miss. At your service."

Kinny stands hunched over, holding a silver breakfast tray, only glancing up briefly to meet Hermione's eyes.

While the demeanor tears at her heart, it doesn't shock her, though the elf's attire does. Whereas Dobby had been forced to wear a dirty rag, Kinny is sporting a crisp white pillowcase.

"Thank you," Hermione says kindly, accepting the tray.

"Your things have arrived, Miss," Kinny informs her. "They is in your wardrobe."

Hermione balances her breakfast tray at the foot of the bed, and crosses the room to the pull open armoire.

"A lot is missing," she says frowning.

There are only a few outfits of hers hanging in there, and a small box at the foot of the wardrobe holding personal items such as pictures and books.

"Mistress is telling Kinny to tell Miss that many of Miss' clothes are not appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Hermione bristles. "That's definitely something my clothes have never been accused of before. I thought they were rather… prim if truth be told."

As the elf backs nervously away, Hermione tries to hold her temper back. It isn't Kinny's fault.

"Mistress is meaning you need clothes appropriate to your new station; robes and such. Miss is not needing so many m-muggle clothes."

Biting her tongue Hermione doesn't reply.

"If that is being all, Miss," Kinny bows, "I will be returning to my tasks. Mistress says to let you know you will be getting a tour of the manor today, and is asking you wait here until then, so Miss is not getting lost."

"Thank you."

Kinny nods and with another  _crack_ she is gone.

Alone again, Hermione pulls the box of her belongings from the wardrobe and sits on the floor to look through it.

_Books. Pictures of Harry, Ron, and I. My journal. The music box dad gave me for my eleventh birthday…_

She goes around the room, placing her things here and there, trying to give it at least a small sense of home, before returning to bed with her breakfast platter.

Thankfully, not long after she finishes eating there is a knock at the door.

She was worried how long she would be stuck in this room before Narcissa had time to give her a tour. Being stuck comes with far too much time to think, and dwell.

Hermione bounds off the bed to open the door, expecting her stone faced "aunt", and instead finds herself shocked to see Draco Malfoy.

_Why didn't I think about the fact that this prat obviously lives here?_

"Good morning, sweet cousin," he offers with a sarcastic smirk. "I'm here to give you the tour."

"Malfoy," she greets stiffly.

"Mother is out today. She said to tell you she'll be home for dinner."

Still smirking, Malfoy turns away, leaving Hermione little choice but to follow him.

They walk in silence through the guest wing, until Hermione can't stand it any more.

"You can't possibly be okay with this," she notes.

"With what?"

" _This. Me._ With finding out that apparently we're long lost relatives!"

"Why would you say that?" he asks.

"Because you  _hate_ me!"

" _Hated_  you," he amends.

She stares at him in disbelief.

"How has that changed? Just because I'm your c—cousin now, you don't have any problem with me?"

Draco shrugs.

"That doesn't make any sense," Hermione argues.

"Look, Granger… I mean… Bl—Hermione," he stumbles pausing to face her. "I hated being shown up by a mudblood. Now, though, it all makes sense! You were never a mudblood. You are a pureblood, which is much more understandable considering your talent."

_Talk about a backhanded compliment._

She still can't help but blanch at the term 'mudblood'.

"Blood has nothing to do with my talent," she tries to reason.

"Doesn't it?"

"No, of course not! Because— because…" her voice trails off. "Because if it did, why aren't we more evenly matched?"

"Who says we aren't?" Draco counters. "You know, test scores aren't everything. Maybe if we had a duel we could settle this debate?"

"Oh, only if I could! I'm not seventeen yet."

"You know that doesn't matter here, right? The trace doesn't really work in magical households. The ministry only knows if there is magic happening in your general vicinity. Now, that may have been an issue when you lived with those muggles, but here, no one has to know."

"Alright then, let's duel!"

Draco laughs.

"Why don't we finish the tour at least? Mother wouldn't be too happy if I stopped in the middle to hex you."

_We'll see who is hexing whom._

Aside from Draco's running commentary, they don't talk much during the tour, the only exception being when Hermione can't help but ask questions. She has to admit that being inside such an old, and historically magical place is rather interesting.

There is a distinct feel around her, just a tingle of magic hanging in the air.

Draco shows her the kitchens, the family dining area, the formal dining room, the grand ballroom, several sitting rooms, the conservatory (filled with several rare magical plants), and finally the library.

Her jaw drops when she sees row after row of magical texts.

"Figured this would be your favorite," Draco mutters, but Hermione pays him no mind, already running her finger along the spines of the nearest shelf of books.

"Next, we are going to the gardens," Draco says, a not-so-subtle hint that he'd like to move on and finish this tour.

"Can it wait?" Hermione asks. "I'd really like a chance to browse."

Draco looks up at the clock impatiently.

"You don't have to stay," she insists.

"You think you can find your way back to your room when you're done?"

"If not, I can always call Kinny."

Draco nods, and sighs.

"Alright, but if mother asks why I didn't finish showing you around you had best be clear it was  _your_  idea."

"I will."

Once he's gone, Hermione starts inspecting the books, memorizing the titles as she goes, trying to decide where to start first.

There are so many options; it's hard for her to even begin to decide what to read first.

She finds one bookshelf that seems to be dedicated to books banned from the Hogwarts curriculum, and decides to start there.

Many of them are dark arts books, but several are just spells and theories deemed too advanced for the average lesson plan. She pulls one of those down eagerly.

Hermione loses track of time skimming through tome after tome. Sometimes sitting on the floor, in one of the leather chairs, or even just standing beside the shelves, too engrossed to bother moving.

It's during one of the latter moments she hears someone speak from behind her, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Making yourself at home, I see."

She jumps, twisting around.

Lucius Malfoy is watching her intently, leaving her feeling like his grey eyes are going to pull her in.

"M—Mr. Malfoy…" she stammers, accidentally letting the book she was reading slip from her fingers.

Before it can hit the ground Lucius lunges forward to catch it, bringing him much closer to Hermione than she is comfortable with.

He's standing about six inches away from her, and she has to fight the urge to draw her wand, knowing that she would lose to  _him_ in a duel.

She can't help her fingers trembling in response, and he catches the movement, the corner of his mouth twitching up slyly.

_Death Eater Death Eater Death Eater,_ her brain warns her.

"I—I'm sorry. Draco was giving me a tour and said it would be okay if I looked around."

Attempting to take a step backwards, she finds herself trapped between a bookcase and Lucius Malfoy.

_He's much too close… and… broad._

"I'll just be going," she hints, hoping he'll step aside.

He doesn't.

"Why, whatever is your rush?" he asks.

"No rush. I just didn't wish to intrude, Mr. Malfoy."

"Such formalities are quite unnecessary, wouldn't you agree?"

_Well, I don't suppose he's referring to that fact that he tried to kill my friends and I last year._

Looking at him, you couldn't tell he spent any time at all in Azkaban. His robes are pressed to perfection, his hair shiny and sleek as ever, and his eyes…  _well perhaps there is shadow that wasn't there before._

Realizing she's staring into his eyes, Hermione blushes, and in her embarrassment speaks without thinking.

"Would you prefer I call you  _Uncle Lucius_?" she inquires sarcastically.

"Lucius shall suffice," he answers, eyes glittering brightly.

Swallowing bravely, Hermione sidesteps around him and walks towards the library door.

"Narcissa didn't wish for me to reveal my presence here to you," he says conversationally, halting her in her tracks.

Fingers still itching to draw her wand, Hermione turns back around.

"She thought it might be too much for you to bear," Lucius continues, approaching her once more. "She thought you might get it in your pretty little head to report my whereabouts to the authorities."

"Can't imagine where she would get that idea," Hermione counters bitterly. "I mean it's not as if you attacked a bunch of children."

"Don't sell yourself short. I really don't think you are a child any longer."

"That tends to happen when the world you live in decides it doesn't want you. It can be a tad stressful."

"It wants you now," he says softly.

She rolls her eyes.

"What exactly is it that you want, Lucius? Why did you seek me out?"

"A bit conceited aren't we? Though, I suppose you  _are_ a Black, so it really shouldn't come as a surprise. I was merely coming to my library in search of something to read and stumbled upon you."

"If you hadn't announced yourself, I never would have noticed you were here."

The thought of being unknowingly watched by a Death Eater sends shivers down her spine.

Lucius shrugs.

"I couldn't help myself. I was curious about you… and I was, and still am, almost certain you won't tell anyone about my location."

"Why are you so sure?" she asks, trying to sound braver than she feels.

"You've already sent me to prison once, and while Narcissa may be inclined to forgive that little matter seeing as I am no longer incarcerated, I don't think she would be quite so forgiving a second time. And… if I'm not mistaken," he ponders, "you still have two months before you're of age. Am I right, love?"

Hermione nods stiffly.

"Two months is a  _long_ time to live with an enemy."

_Either way I'll be living with an enemy._

Lucius smiles broadly, as if he can read her thoughts.

"I'm not your enemy," he tries to reassure her. "Not now."

"Nothing has changed," she disagrees.

" _Everything_  has changed. Besides, you know I can't harm you even if I were so inclined. Not so long as you wear this."

His hand snakes out to take hers, and he holds it up so he can inspect the ring on Hermione's finger.

He holds her hand gently, his skin radiating heat, tracing his thumb over the ring and up her finger.

Hermione pulls her hand away with a sharp intake of breath.

"Can I trust you to keep my secret?" Lucius asks.

_Until September first, when I step foot on platform nine and three quarters…_

"Yes," she agrees.

Hermione tries to leave again, but steps outside the door and immediately realizes she forgot which way she came from.

"Kinny?"

_Crack!_

The elf appears from out of thin air.

"Yes, Miss?" Kinny asks, bowing low.

"I, um, don't remember how to get back to my room. Could you show me?"

"Why, yes! Of—"

"That won't be necessary, Kinny. I would be more than happy to escort the new Miss Black back to her chambers," Lucius offers from behind Hermione.

Hermione looks at the elf pleadingly, but Kinny refuses to look up from the ground.

"As you wish, Master Malfoy."

_Crack!_

She's gone, leaving Hermione alone with Lucius once more.

"It's this way," he tells her, stepping beside her and steering her lightly by her elbow.

Hermione jerks her arm away from his grasp, and misses the smile of amusement he wears watching as she tries to walk with as much distance between them as possible.

They walk in silence, Lucius gesturing which turns to make, eventually leading them back to Hermione's room.

She tries to slip in quickly, and close the door behind her, but he sticks his foot in the doorframe.

"Yes?" she asks, a bit impatiently.

Lucius reaches into his robes, and for one terrifying second Hermione is positive this is how she is going to die. However, instead of finding herself at the end of a wand, she finds him offering her a book.

"I believe this might interest you."

Hesitantly she accepts the book and flips it to read the cover.

_Blood Mingling and the Threat it Poses to Our Society_

"Somehow I doubt that it will," she responds.

To her annoyance Lucius just smiles.

"Considering your newly discovered heritage, I thought you might appreciate some insight into the beliefs of your brethren, scholarly girl that you are."

Hermione bites the inside of her lip and nods.

"Thank you," she tells him begrudgingly.

Instead of replying Lucius gives her a small bow before backing away to allow her to shut her door.

Remembering Draco informing her the trace is useless in a wizarding household, Hermione quickly wards her bedroom door and contemplates just how dangerous her new status truly is.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Not long after she returns from the library, there is another knock on Hermione's door.

"Who is it?" she calls.

"Narcissa. May I come in?"

Sighing in relief, Hermione quickly disables her wards and opens the door, stepping aside as Narcissa comes in levitating several shopping bags behind her.

"Sorry I wasn't here to give you a tour myself this morning," she immediately apologizes. "I was called away. There was some confusion with the family business, and, oh well it's all quite boring truthfully. I trust Draco behaved himself?"

"Oh, that's alright. Draco was a good tour guide. By my fault, I will tell you, we never made it past the library. I was a bit distracted."

Narcissa chuckles.

"I suppose all the rumors are true."

"Rumors?" Hermione asks.

"Nothing bad, dear. Just that you are very studious. Perhaps you could teach Draco a thing or two before school begins. It  _is_  his last year, and Merlin knows he could use the N.E.W.T.s."

Hermione nods noncommittally, and watches as Narcissa begins shuffling through shopping bag after shopping bag.

"I was already out," Narcissa explains, "so I thought I would pick you up a few things."

_A few?_

"You really didn't have—"

"Nonsense. The only robes in your wardrobe were your school robes. You are entering your final year of school, and about to come of age. The time for— oh, what is the word… jean pants has passed. You should really begin dressing as the woman you wish to be seen as."

There is a part of Hermione that really wishes to snap at Narcissa, telling her she will dress however she pleases thank you very much, but there is another part of her, the insecure, uncomfortable in her own skin part, that looks at a woman as prim, polished, classy and… intimidating as Narcissa Malfoy, and just wants to beg, "teach me your ways!"

So, rather than responding with a scathing sarcastic remark, Hermione instead offers a small smile and says, "Thank you. I guess it  _is_ time for a change."

Narcissa gives her a tight lipped smile and launches into showing Hermione all the things she bought for her, excitedly giving tips on mixing and matching, which colors are in season, and what goes best with Hermione's skin tone.

Much to her surprise, Hermione finds she is actually quite enjoying herself, and that for the moment she is able to avoid thinking of how much her world has shifted in the last twenty-four hours.

It takes them at least an hour to sift through all of the clothing, shoes, and accessories Narcissa purchased.

Sitting on the floor amidst the array of fine tissue paper, Hermione doesn't even want to imagine how many galleons all of this cost. Everything came from some top witch-wear designer, and could not have been cheap.

Narcissa looks around the paper-strewn room.

"Perhaps I got a bit carried away," she admits sheepishly. "I've just never got to do this before, with only having a son and all. Draco isn't as much fun to shop for."

"Did you ever consider having more children?" Hermione asks, and then blushes. "Sorry, that's a bit personal."

"No, no, it's alright," Narcissa assures her. "I wouldn't have minded having more children, but there was no need. Our first born was a boy, he'll be able to carry on the family name."

This just raises more questions, but Hermione isn't sure how much she should pry.

Curiosity gets the best of her.

"You make it sound as if having children were a contract."

"Well, it was," Narcissa nods. "I mentioned yesterday how members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are often part of arranged marriages, and Lucius and I are no different."

"You were forced into an arranged marriage?" Hermione asks, shocked.

_I mean I knew they happened, but it is so hard to picture them happening in recent history, let alone to people you know._

"I wasn't forced. It was… encouraged. Why wouldn't I do as my family asked? Lucius came from a great, powerful family, he has many connections, and it's not as if he isn't quite dashing."

"What about love?"

"Familial obligation comes first. That is true love. The love you show for your family and the lengths you are willing to go for them."

"Does that mean you don't love your husband?" Hermione asks, too curious to be embarrassed by her probing questions.

Narcissa sighs as she climbs to her feet, sending tissue slowly floating downwards in her wake.

"I do love Lucius, but probably not in the way you would imagine. I have the highest admiration for him, and I am thankful for the way he provides and cares for us, but my love for him is more along the lines of the deep regard in which you hold your closest friends. And indeed, he is my closest friend," she explains.

"And that's enough?"

"Living with someone whom you can always trust, and with whom you share a deep mutual respect? What more could you ask for?"

_Romance? True love? A soul mate?_

Hermione doesn't answer; instead she begins gathering her new clothes to put them away.

She imagines what it would be like to be in a relationship like the one Narcissa described.

_It would be like living with Harry for the rest of my life. I suppose that wouldn't be terrible… aside from the whole having kids part._

She crinkles her nose as she thinks about it.

_That is too weird to think about. Harry is like my brother._

Later, Narcissa insists Hermione dress for dinner and chooses a fitted navy blue dress robe that falls just below the knees for her to wear. She also teaches Hermione a nifty little spell used to tame frizzy hair.

When she looks in the mirror before heading down to the dining room, Hermione barely recognizes herself.

_I look… older. More mature._

Smiling at her reflection she decides that she likes the new look.

_I can't wait to tell mum I finally found a way to manage—_

_Oh… right._

A sense of loss and longing descends on her, wiping away all the buoyancy her makeover gave her.

Blinking rapidly to fight her tears, Hermione joins Narcissa and Draco for their first family dinner all together.

Narcissa single-handedly keeps the conversation going throughout the meal, with Draco offering minor input here and there. Hermione, on the other hand, only responds when spoken to, and has a hard time replying with more than two or three word answers.

She feels a little guilty about her behavior, after the lovely time she had with Narcissa this afternoon, but she can't find the energy to make herself try harder to participate.

After they finish dessert (which Hermione barely touches), Narcissa leads her into one of the many sitting rooms.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, looking concerned. "I only ask because you seem a bit more withdrawn than you were earlier."

"I'm sorry I was such poor company tonight. I think everything has caught up to me again and I suppose I'm feeling… a bit overwhelmed," Hermione answers truthfully.

"I know we don't really know each other yet, and I know that you have some rather  _tense_ history with my family, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Even if you just need someone to talk to."

Common sense says the last person Hermione should be trusting is the wife of a Death Eater and a Malfoy to boot, but the compassion in Narcissa's blue eyes tells a different story.

Before she even realizes what she's doing, Hermione is opening up.

"I miss my parents," she admits, "but I'm also furious at them? And— and I'm upset, and confused, and a tiny bit excited, and a thousand other things, and I don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling!"

She groans burying her face in her hands.

"I think that how you are feeling is how you are  _supposed_ to be feeling, dear. There are no right and wrong when it comes to a situation such as this," Narcissa comforts.

"I— I also feel  _guilty_ ," Hermione mutters.

"Why?"

"Because I just found out that my whole life was a lie  _yesterday_ , and today I was…" she trails off.

"Enjoying yourself?" Narcissa finishes.

Hermione nods slowly, grimacing.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

Narcissa laughs.

"I doubt your opinions of me and my family have shifted  _that_ much in the last twenty-four hours, so I have to ask, do you really think I'm a good judge on what makes someone a  _bad person_?"

Hermione opens and closes her mouth several times, not sure how to respond, and not particularly wishing to start a discussion about their contradictory societal beliefs.

"No, dear. I don't think that makes you a bad person," Narcissa finally says, letting her off the hook. "I'm sure this is a very confusing, and difficult time for you, and therefore understandable that you should find yourself enjoying the fruits of a shopping spree, or a new library. They are outlets by which you can momentarily distract yourself and forget your troubles."

She reaches over to pat Hermione's knee.

"Don't feel bad for accepting an escape when it is presented to you."

Much to her surprise, Hermione actually takes comfort from Narcissa's words.

_I don't think I could have ever anticipated any scenario in which I would turn to Narcissa Malfoy for comfort and advice._

_This is the strangest week ever._

That evening, though she doesn't understand it, a tentative bond is formed between her and her new aunt, and Hermione finds herself looking forward to the time she spends with Narcissa over the next few days.

They never bring up blood status beliefs, or the Malfoy's ties to Voldemort, as if they are both respecting some silent truce. Hermione knows it can't last, but has too many questions about other matters to risk pushing her newfound aunt away.

On her fifth afternoon at the manor, Hermione sits in the conservatory sharing a pot of tea with Narcissa, and finally voices a question that has been pulling at her.

"What was my— what was Lisette like?" she asks.

"She was quite headstrong," Narcissa recalls fondly, a wistful expression on her face. "We were very close, your mother and I. She was my younger sister, but I must admit I always looked up to  _her_. She had this no nonsense attitude, and wouldn't tolerate people telling her what to do."

" _You_  don't particularly strike me as someone who tolerates others telling you what to do," Hermione notes.

"Well, I may be more confident now than I was in my youth, but I still hold the same respect for family I've always had. Something Lisette always lacked. I'm not saying she didn't love our family, but she never understood the concept of family duty such as Bella and myself did."

"And what about Duncan? The… Death Eater?"

Narcissa cocks her head to the side, regarding Hermione carefully before answering.

"He was a good young man. A few years older than Lisette."

"A good young man who joined up with a group of murderers to torment those he believed beneath him," Hermione corrects.

"The blame of his… affiliations does not solely fall to him. It was expected of him, and he saw it as an honor to carry out his duty to his family name."

"Family, duty, honor," Hermione scoffs. "Do you want, or expect, Draco to follow in his father's footsteps? To pledge his life to a madman in order to uphold the family honor?"

She seems to have hit a nerve; Narcissa's already porcelain skin drains of the little color it has.

"You speak of things you do not understand," she counters. "Things you  _cannot_ possibly understand."

"Then explain it to me?" Hermione urges, completely shattering their unspoken truce.

"I… I wish only for Draco to—"

"For me to what, mother?"

Draco strides into the room, clearly having missed the earlier portion of their conversation, looking a little confused, but overall just curious.

Narcissa's eyes dart from her son to Hermione and back again.

"Draco! I was… just telling Hermione how I just want you to do well your last year at Hogwarts, and how thankful I am for her help," she covers.

In addition to the time she's been spending with Narcissa, Hermione has been spending rather more time with Draco than she ever pictured she would.

Her second day at the manor, Draco had arrived to finish giving her the tour, taking her past the mysterious east wing he warned was off limits, and into the beautiful gardens overrunning with mystical plant life.

Once outside, and needing to vent some frustration, Hermione reminded him of their duel. Smirking self-confidently, Draco took her up on it, and before they knew it the garden patio was being showered in sparks and jets of whizzing light.

It didn't take Hermione more than five minutes to disarm Draco, much to his chagrin, and he admitted that perhaps while blood  _is_ important, he could probably stand to do a bit more studying.

Having nothing else to do to fill her time, and imaging the priceless shocked expressions on Ron and Harry's face when she tells them, Hermione offered to tutor him.

She had expected Draco to flat out refuse her offer, but he surprised by shrugging nonchalantly and replying, "I don't have anything better to do."

They'd been working together everyday since, and Hermione had found herself actually enjoying Draco's company.

_He can be quite funny when he isn't too busy being a prat._

"Oh," Draco shrugs, taking his mother at her word. "Anyways, I just came to let you know the post has arrived."

Draco pulls a stack of mail from inside his jacket and hands all but one of them to his mother; the last he hands to Hermione.

Sitting up straighter she takes the missive, this is the first mail she's received since she has been at the manor; at first she was rather disappointed, but then she rationalized that corresponding with the Order while living with the Malfoys probably wouldn't be the wisest thing to do.

Her stomach flips when she sees Harry's familiar scrawl across the outside of the envelope.

"Oh, good!" Narcissa chimes, flipping through her own mail. "It looks as if everyone will be here Saturday."

Clutching her own post tightly, Hermione eyes the stack of envelopes on Narcissa's lap.

"What's on Saturday?" she asks.

"I'm having a little welcome home party in your honor. It will be a good chance to introduce you to our close family friends."

Hermione blinks blankly

_A party for close friends of the Blacks and the Malfoys… what could go wrong?_

"Don't look so worried, dear," Narcissa smiles, reading the hesitation on Hermione's face. "You had to be introduced to the rest of the elite at some point."

Hermione gives a half nod and a small smile.

_She thinks I'm worried about hanging out with a bunch of aristocrats?_

Impatient though she is, Hermione manages to wait until she is back in her room that night to tear open Harry's letter.

_Hermione,_

_I've just arrived at the Burrow and heard about what happened! No one wanted to write me and risk me running off and doing "something foolish". Although how coming to take you away from the Malfoys is "something foolish" I don't know. The only reason I am not on my way this very minute is because Dumbledore insisted that I leave matters alone. He said that he made sure you were safe, and that I shouldn't interfere._

_If you want out of there, or don't feel safe, or hell even if Malfoy looks at you wrong, just say the word and Ron and I will be there before you can say "Quidditch". I mean it. You're our best friend and I won't abandon you to those bastards, no matter what the law, or Dumbledore says._

_Anyways, how are you? Are they treating you well? Are you okay? I can't even begin to imagine what you must be going through… I think it'd be like if I woke up one day and my aunt and uncle decided to tell me I was really_ their _son (that is a gross thought)._

_Please write me as soon as you can. And just to be sure it's really you and not some imposter, in our first year at Hogwarts what did you say would be worse than getting killed?_

_Harry_

Eyes watering, Hermione rereads Harry's letter twice, a happy glow settling over her.

It's not just that Harry is on the verge to rescue her should she say the word, though she will admit that him willingly going against Dumbledore for her makes her feel oddly important, she's just happy to hear he made it to the Burrow safely.

Before she had been swept away from the only home she'd ever known, Hermione had been in touch with Ron and the Order, running scenarios of how to best get Harry out of Privet Drive safely.

While upset she couldn't help, she's very relieved to know that he made it all right.

_I wonder if I'll still be able to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding? I was supposed to be staying at the Burrow by then, but I don't suppose Narcissa will let that fly. Perhaps I can still go to at least the ceremony, even if I can't stay?_

Yawning, she decides that is a problem for another day. There is still a month before the wedding anyways.

Before bed, Hermione sits at the small wooden desk by her door and pens a response to Harry, reassuring him that she is okay, and he doesn't need to come for her.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you so much for your concern, but I assure you I am fine, please don't risk your safety for my sake! Things are going… surprisingly well here. I don't really know what to say. I have much to tell you, but I think these are conversations better left for once we are together again. I'm hoping to still attend the wedding, but I suppose I'll have to run it by Narcissa first._

_Please give everyone my best, and assure them I am doing just fine. As to your question, things could be worse… I could have been expelled!_

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

She rolls up her letter and leaves it on the desk, realizing she'll have to borrow one of the Malfoy's birds to send it.

Not entirely trusting Harry and Ron to remain rational now that they are reunited, she pulls out her D.A. galleon as she climbs into bed to send them an instant message.

_HP I'm okay. Reply coming. HG_

There is only so much room to write on the galleons, but she is sure Harry will get the message to hold tight for now.

A few minutes later her galleon burns in response.

_Stay safe HP RW_

Smiling, and thinking reassuring thoughts of her two boys, Hermione slips peacefully off to sleep.

 


	4. Chapter Four

**AN:** I know I updated yesterday, but today is the official "19 Years Later" and I wanted to celebrate!

Additionally, I received an ever-so-polite (not) anonymous message from someone lamenting about details I have gotten 'wrong'. I typically don't respond to anons, but I thought I would clarify a few things about the story background that perhaps I didn't make clear. This story is set after Sixth Year, under the belief that Harry and Dumbledore found the actual locket, destroyed it, and Dumbledore survived the experience. I have also played with Hermione's age a bit, so she would still be 'underage' going into her Seventh Year. 

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review! I am so pleased with all of the support you are offering!! <3

* * *

 

When Saturday morning dawns it brings with it a churning feeling of dread in Hermione's stomach.

She's been living at Malfoy Manor for a week now, and while she has found herself getting along surprisingly well with Narcissa and Draco, something she never anticipated being possible, she knows the fragile peace they've wrought cannot last. At some point their conflicting beliefs about the war are going to be brought up, and it isn't a confrontation she is much looking forward to.

With the prospect of a party full of Death Eaters being mere hours away, Hermione fears she won't be able to avoid the subject any longer.

_Do they really think that just because I've found out I am a Pureblood instead of a Muggleborn that I will abandon all of my beliefs?_

_Just because one part of me has changed doesn't mean I must become an entirely new person… does it?_

Before she can even get out of bed there is a loud  _crack_ and Kinny appears, carrying a breakfast tray.

"Morning, Miss Hermione," Kinny says with a bow. "My Mistress is being very busy today, preparing for your party. She is wanting me to tell Miss to relax today, and to save your strength for dancing."

Hermione grimaces, but nods, and accepts the silver tray as the elf passes it to her.

"Thank you, Kinny."

The elf bows again and is about to disapparate when Hermione stops her.

"Kinny?" she questions. "Do you know who will be at the party tonight?"

"I do not know, Miss. But Kinny expects lots of important wizards."

"What kind of important wizards?"

"I is not understanding, Miss?" Kinny admits, looking ashamed.

"I mean, are they… good wizards? Or… or are they dark wizards?"

The elf's already large eyes bug at the question, and Hermione feels as if she made a mistake asking in the first place.

"I—I— I is…" Kinny stutters, "I is not to be… talking about d—dark wizards."

Her little hands ball into fists, clutching the ends of her pillowcase.

"Okay, I'm sorry for asking. I won't do it again," Hermione assures the little elf, who sighs in relief and quickly disappears before Hermione can say more.

The knot of dread in her stomach grows and Hermione sets her breakfast aside, not trusting herself to keep it down.

She climbs out of bed and wraps herself in a silk dressing gown, one of the many things Narcissa brought back from her shopping trip, and pads over to the window.

It looks like it will be a beautiful day, and while Hermione would like to spend it in the garden she doesn't particularly want to run into Narcissa just yet. She feels like she needs time to mentally prepare herself for the night to come.

So instead she confines herself to her room all day, finally caving in and starting on the book about blood purity Lucius gave to her.

Hermione never mentioned her run in with Lucius to Narcissa, and Narcissa never brought it up, so she assumes Lucius didn't say anything either.

_I wonder why?_

As she lounges in her sitting area, sprawled on the sofa, Hermione finds herself scoffing at much of the content in the book, which comes as no surprise. Although, sometimes, to her disbelief, she actually understands the point the author is trying to make and can somewhat agree.

One of the main propositions for keeping blood pure, she reads, is to prevent the dilution of their traditions and culture.

On this matter Hermione can see both sides…

_While heritage is important, and something to be proud of, traditions should shift with the times… and all cultures are ever changing and growing._

_But I understand being afraid to lose one's roots…_

_Just because I understand, doesn't mean I agree,_ she reminds herself as she continues reading.

Another one of the points the book attempts to stress is that by allowing muggleborns into the wizarding world, they are also allowing muggles in since it is a requirement for parents to agree to allow their children to attend school.

_At what point is the line drawn among families of muggleborns where these magical folk must stop sharing information with loved ones? Is it not, in fact, kinder to exclude them from our world rather than submerging them into surroundings that their families cannot, and should not be allowed to, understand?_

_What of the dangers posed to our society by those families of muggleborns who detest magic? How are we expected to entrust the safety of our kind to strangers who may hate what we are._

Hermione rolls her eyes, thinking it is quite a broad statement to paint every muggle as someone who hates and fears magic.

_My parents were thrilled when they found out I was a witch!_

She bites her lip, though, thinking of her grandmother; a severely religious woman who would find Hermione's abilities evil, or blasphemous.

_I suppose I can understand the dangers if a muggleborn were living in an environment like that._

_What would have happened had the Dursley's not feared it getting out they had ties to a Wizard? I wouldn't be surprised if they would be some of the first calling for the resurrection of witch burnings._

While some of what she reads makes sense, in a roundabout sort of way, Hermione can't help shaking her head, wondering if Lucius really thought he could sway her opinion with one book.

Regardless of her opinion on the subject matter, Hermione spends the rest of the day reading through the old tome.

She's just closed the book and started staring aimlessly out the window, considering all she's read, when a small  _pop_  alerts her to Kinny's presence.

"Miss Hermione? It is almost time for the party. I is here to help you get ready," the elf tells her.

"I can do it," Hermione assures her.

"My Mistress is insisting, Miss," Kinny says, again twisting the fabric of her pillowcase skirt with her worried hands.

"Whatever Mistress wants," Hermione agrees with a heavy sigh, not wishing to be a source for the elf to punish itself.

Kinny gives her a relieved smile and leads Hermione into the great bathroom, pushing her to sit in front of an embellished vanity.

When told to turn, shift, or stand, Hermione obliges her tiny helper, but she doesn't quite pay attention to her surroundings, too caught up in worrying once more about the attendees of tonight's party.

_Certainly anyone coming to the Malfoy house, after knowing that Lucius has been arrested, sent to Azkaban, and since escaped, can't be good._

Her stomach twists uncomfortably, but she holds back the many questions she would like to pepper Kinny with.

When the elf finishes with Hermione's hair and make-up, she leads her back to the bedroom and helps her slip in to a flowing set of white dress robes quite unlike anything Hermione has worn before.

There is only one shoulder strap holding it up, hanging like a sash behind her, with frills accenting her waist, and the most daring part being the thigh high slit up the front of her skirt.

Kinny helps tighten the straps on a set of black heels that pinch Hermione's feet (until she gives them a nice cushioning charm), and then steps back so Hermione can get a look at herself in the wardrobe mirror.

Her curls have been tamed into soft waves falling about her face, and the make-up she's wearing makes her look older than she is. All in all, she doesn't look like herself.

_Where did that bushy haired, hand waving, know-it-all go?_ She wonders sadly.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate the way she's changed and grown over the years, but right now she even misses her buckteeth.

_I've lost my parents. My surname. And now I don't even look like myself._

_Hermione Granger truly is gone._

She swallows back the thickness in her throat and looks to the nervous elf at her side.

"Thank you for your help, Kinny."

Kinny beams and bows deeply.

Soon there is impatient knocking on her bedroom door, and Hermione opens it to find Draco wearing his dress robes.

His eyebrows shoot up when he sees her, and she doesn't know whether to be flattered or offended at his surprise.

"Damn, Grang— Hermione," he says, checking her out appraisingly. "You clean up pretty nice."

His eyes linger over her the dip of her neckline and she clears her throat loudly.

"You do understand we're cousins, right?" she asks sarcastically, smirking at him.

Draco wraps an arm around her and begins to lead her downstairs.

"You know, it's not really unheard of in pureblood society," he says casually. "Not if you want to keep the bloodlines pure."

She scoffs loudly and leans away.

"I'm joking," he says, pulling her back over with a laugh. "You're not really my type."

"Oh, really?"

"I don't want to date someone who can beat me in a duel. Imagine if I forgot your birthday or something."

She shakes her head.

"You'll make one  _lucky_ girl very happy someday," she tells him.

"Don't take that tone with me. I happen to be a catch," he insists as they reach the entrance to the ballroom.

Hermione can't help herself and bursts out laughing just as the doors swing open to grant them entrance, and she feels a twinge of gratitude for Draco lightening her mood when she had been feeling so nervous.

All of those feelings prepare to come rushing back as she catches sight of the crowd that's waiting for them, until—

"Hermione!"

She turns towards her name, and feels her face split into a wide grin.

"Ginny?"

Hermione pulls away from Draco and hurries to meet the youngest Weasley, pulling her into a hug.

Over Ginny's shoulder, she sees Arthur and Molly approaching, both looking apprehensive.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asks, breaking the hug.

"Mother thought it might make you more comfortable having people you knew here," Draco says from behind her, having caught up.

Hermione feels a small surge of affection for Narcissa, and turns her attention back to Ginny.

"You look lovely," she tells Ginny, admiring her plum colored dress robes.

"Me? Look at you! You look… so different. Not that that's a bad thing— or that you didn't look good before, it's just—" her friend stumbles, and Hermione smiles cutting her off.

"I know what you mean, thank you."

"Hermione!"

Molly walks up and grabs Hermione's hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Are you alright dear?" she asks.

"I assure you I'm not mistreating her," Narcissa Malfoy's voice interrupts, cutting Hermione off before she can reply.

Narcissa materializes from the crowd behind Arthur and Molly, and Hermione can instantly tell she is uncomfortable with the Weasley's presence. Though she finds her dislike annoying, Hermione is even more grateful of Narcissa pushing her prejudices aside to make her feel more comfortable.

"You must understand our concern, Mrs. Malfoy," Arthur says diplomatically. "This has been quite a shocking development, and we are only inquiring as to how Hermione is handling the news of her… parentage."

Everyone's eyes turn to Hermione and she feels instantly ill at ease.

"I—I'm doing well," she tells them after a moment's pause. "I'm still adjusting, but I'm sure that is to be expected. Narcissa and Draco have been nothing but accommodating, trying their best to make me feel at home."

Narcissa gives Hermione a small smile, which she returns, much to the astonishment of the three Weasley's in front of her.

"Not to intrude on your catching up," Narcissa says haughtily, "but I need to borrow Hermione. There are, after all, many people I'd like to introduce her to. Please, enjoy the festivities, I'm sure you will have more time later to inquire over whether I am mistreating my niece or not."

Arthur nods his head exaggeratedly and leads Molly, and a hesitant Ginny away.

Narcissa intertwines her arm with Hermione's and leads her into the crowd of partygoers.

It's now Hermione finally takes the time to look around.

They are in the smaller of the two ballrooms in Malfoy Manor, though this one is no less ornately decorated than the larger one.

There are witches and wizards flitting about carrying large silver serving platters, dressed much like muggle waiters and waitresses.

As one carrying a tray of champagne passes by, Draco stops them and hands both his mother and Hermione a drink.

From one side of the room, Hermione hears music playing, and she just catches a glimpse of a string quartet through the crowd before Narcissa is introducing her to someone.

Hermione forgets the wizard's name almost instantly, only catching that he apparently works for the ministry.

_Something about magical imports and exports?_  She tries to recall, taking a sip of her champagne.

He's barely had time to tell her how nice it is to meet her, and how much he's heard about her, before Hermione is being swept along and introduced to another and another 'friend' of the Malfoys.

Many of the people she meets work for the ministry, or for important companies, or own patents on old wizarding products, and all of them are purebloods.

While she doesn't recall most of their names, she is certain of one thing, or almost certain.

_None of them are Death Eaters._

She wonders why so many important people would consent to attending a party at the house of a known criminal.

_Does the Malfoy name still command that much respect, despite all Lucius has done?_

Suddenly she recalls something she once heard Sirius say.

" _T_ _he world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us."_

Feeling a bit sheepish, she admits to herself that perhaps she had been foolish to assume that everyone chose a side on the war. Many of the people here seem to be neutral on the matter of Voldemort, if the whispers she is catching are to be believed.

_Just because you hold such strong convictions doesn't mean everyone does._   _Can you really blame them for staying out of the fray?_

Most of the people she meets seem genuinely pleased to meet her, but she keeps getting asked the same questions over and over and she doesn't know how to respond.

" _How did it feel when you learned you were part of such an old and powerful family?"_

" _Were you relieved to learn your true heritage?"_

" _It must seem like such a blessing to find out you aren't a muggleborn! Aren't you the luckiest?"_

Plastering on a fake smile, Hermione gives shrugs or noncommittal answers, highly doubting the answer these people expect is anything other than, "it was a dream come true."

_I've often fantasized that my parents spent my whole life lying to me about my identity,_  she thinks sarcastically as she's asked how happy she is for what feels like the hundredth time.

As if sensing Hermione's waning patience, Draco intervenes, telling his mother it's a shame Hermione hasn't gotten to dance yet, and before she can say anything he's drug her into the center of the room onto the dance floor.

"I'm impressed," he tells Hermione, resting his hands on her waist.

"With what?" she asks sullenly, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"That you haven't hexed anyone yet. You must want to. I mean, I'm sure to some degree it's got to feel as if you won the lottery," he says pompously, "but it must still be terrible finding out your parents aren't your parents. I don't think they realize that part."

Hermione studies Draco curiously as he twirls her around the dance floor, wondering if this compassion of his is truly newfound, or if it is something that has always been there, but reserved for those of blood he deemed worthy.

He leads her in a wide path around the edge of the floor, and she's about to ask what he's doing when Draco suddenly stops in his tracks.

"I'm, uh, going to go get us drinks. Why don't you have a seat?"

He nods over her shoulder, and before Hermione can say anything, he disappears into the crowd of other dancers.

Sighing, Hermione turns around and is surprised to find he left her right beside the table where Ginny, Molly, and Arthur are sitting.

She smiles, understanding how conflicting it must have been for Draco, knowing his dislike for the Weasleys.

Hurrying over before someone attempts to start another conversation with her, Hermione slides into a seat beside Ginny.

"Oh, Hermione," Molly laments, "are you really okay?"

Arthur is scanning the area around them looking to see if they are being spied on, and Hermione reaches into a pocket of her robes and surreptitiously casts  _muffliato_ under the table.

"I'm… managing," she tells them honestly.

"How are they treating you?" Arthur asks, still searching the room.

"Narcissa has been wonderful. Honestly," she insists as all three of them look at her disbelievingly.

"And Draco?" Ginny asks, watching her closely.

"He's not been terrible," she shrugs. "But tell me about what's going on? I feel like I'm missing out. How's Harry? I know he's with you now."

Neither Arthur nor Molly responds, so Ginny answers.

"He's okay. Worried about you though. He and Ron were demanding to come, trying to follow us under the invisibility cloak, but Mad-Eye showed up and spotted them. Moody stayed to babysit them so they couldn't do anything foolish."

"Hermione?" Arthur asks. "What's your cat's name?"

"Crookshanks?" she responds, confused by the sudden shift of topic.

"And your patronus, what shape does it take?" he presses.

"An otter. Oh… I understand. My name is Hermione Jean Granger, well I guess it's Black now. I am best friends with Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley. Last summer when I was staying at your house, Ginny and I stayed up well into the early hours of the morning several times discussing what we want to do with our futures and even made plans to get a flat together after she graduates Hogwarts."

Arthur and Molly look to Ginny, who nods.

"It's true," she says.

"Forgive me," Arthur apologizes, "I had to be sure that you were, well, you."

Hermione nods.

"Arthur!"

Hermione jumps, and quickly drops the  _muffliato_ charm as someone she recognizes as working for the ministry strides over to shake Mr. Weasleys hand.

Hermione groans, as she catches sight of Narcissa heading their way.

"Be right back," Hermione tells Ginny. "I need to visit the Loo."

Quick to her feet, Hermione slips into the crowd and carefully makes her way to one of the large glass doors leading to the garden patio.

She manages to slip out unseen, and backs into the darkness, away from the light spilling from the ballroom windows.

The music drifts outside, and Hermione sinks onto a stone bench, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

"Needed some fresh air?" a voice asks, and she jumps, startled.

"I wish you'd stop sneaking up on me like that!" she snaps, glaring into the hedges, watching as Lucius Malfoy steps out of the deepest shadows.

She can't see all of his face, but if his twinkling eyes are anything to go by, she suspects he's giving her his trademark smirk.

"I suppose this is all a bit overwhelming," he says conversationally, coming closer so she can see him.

"That's an understatement," she sighs.

Lucius walks over and settles himself down beside her on the bench. Hermione stiffens, but holds her ground, refusing to let him know how much he terrifies her.

"I didn't notice you in there," she says, studying him out of the corner of her eye.

He's dressed impeccably, in all black, as usual. His golden hair shining in the moonlight, almost seeming to glow of it's own accord.

"Are you surprised?" he asks darkly. "You know who I am… what I am. As I told you, Narcissa thought it best I stay hidden. There are quite a few ministry officials in there, and I  _am_ a wanted man after all."

"I wouldn't be surprised if most of them turned a blind eye to your presence."

"Most," he shrugs, "but not all."

"Like Arthur Weasley?" she asks. "He would love to be the one to bring you in."

"Weasley?" Lucius sneers. "She invited Weasleys into my house?"

The disgust is clear in his voice, and he mumbles something under his breath that sounds very close to, "blood traitors."

"I suppose I'm a blood traitor as well," Hermione says.

"Of course you aren't."

She turns to face him, confused.

"I'm a pureblood, and I am sympathetic to muggleborns and muggles. Is that not the definition of what you consider to be a so-called blood traitor?"

"Well, yes," he admits, "but you can be forgiven for this."

"Why should I be forgiven, and the Weasleys outcasted?" she demands.

"You've had no choice. You grew up believing you were a muggle, and when you turned eleven you were told you were a muggleborn witch. You had no choice but to believe that muggleborns were worthy as any pureblood because there would be no other way for you to reconcile your existence," Lucius explains. "You cannot be held accountable for the beliefs forced upon you to avoid self-loathing. Perhaps, one day you will see the truth, but until then I can be… forgiving."

While Hermione finds Lucius' reasoning ridiculous, and bigoted, she does realize that he thinks he's being nice.

"Why are you trying to be kind to me?" she asks him. "You despise me!"

He cocks his head to the side, his slate eyes meeting her brown ones raptly.

"No, my dear, I  _revere_ you," he insists, his voice low but deferential. "You saved my son's life. You saved  _my life._ "

 


	5. Chapter Five

" _No, my dear, I revere you," he insists, his voice low but deferential. "You saved my son's life. You saved my life."_

Something in the intensity of his gaze tells Hermione to run, but her curiosity keeps her tethered to the bench beside him.

"What do you mean?" she asks quietly.

"I'm sure you remember the circumstances of the last time we met, before you came here?"

Hermione nods, recalling the terror that coursed through her as she stared at his cold demanding face in the hall of prophecies, ordering them to hand over the small glass orb.

"So, you also recall that I failed in my mission. The prophecy was destroyed before I could retrieve it and deliver it to the Dark Lord," Lucius explains. "Then I was captured along with several others and sent to Azkaban. At the time, I must admit, it was almost a relief to be in jail."

She shoots him an inquisitive look and he nods.

"Yes, it's true. I felt safer in the care of the dementors than I did at the possibility of returning to my master after having failed him. As if being in prison would somehow be enough of a punishment for my failure… it was not."

Even assuring herself that whatever Lucius' punishment was he had earned it by choosing to follow Voldemort in the first place, Hermione can't help the small surge of pity she feels looking at his haunted face.

"When the Dark Lord broke us out of Azkaban it was only so I could watch my punishment up close. He chose Draco for a mission. A… highly dangerous task that held little chance of success. I believe that the Dark Lord expected Draco to perish in his attempt to complete this mission."

"What happened?" she presses, after he drops into silence.

"As Draco attempted to find a way to… do as he was bid, I could hardly bear it. I turned to old hobbies to distract myself. One of the hobbies I've been working on for quite some time is creating an anthology of the Malfoy bloodline, tracing back to its beginning. I was working on Narcissa's branch, and it led me to you."

"It was you? You were the one who found out about my… true parentage?"

"Yes, it was me," Lucius nods.

"Alright," she says slowly, trying to process everything he's told her so far. "I still don't understand. How is it I supposedly saved yours and Draco's lives?"

He drops his gaze, staring into his lap, and if she believed he were actually capable of feeling it, Hermione would think he looked ashamed.

"When I learned the truth about you, I took my discovery to the Dark Lord."

Hermione almost stops breathing.

"He was… very pleased with my discovery. He put Draco's mission on hold, and returned me to my old status."

She swallows thickly, her eyes darting around the dark garden, searching the shadows, expecting a snakelike face to emerge from one any moment.

Lucius places his hand on her forearm and she jumps, turning her attention back to him, but pulling her arm from his reach.

"You're not in danger," he tries to reassure her. "The Dark Lord isn't coming for you. He doesn't even wish to see you. Yet."

"Then I don't understand! How could finding out I'm a Black help you so much?"

"The Dark Lord views your newly discovered blood status as a blow to the morale of those who oppose him."

Hermione still doesn't understand, and so Lucius continues explaining.

"I don't think you realize how important you've been to the Order. You are the brightest witch of your age, the top of your class at Hogwarts, and quite possibly more skilled than most witches and wizards I know that are twice your age. You are all of those things, and also widely known as a muggleborn. You were the shining example that said all the Dark Lord's beliefs were wrong about blood purity… but now, now it comes out that you have actually been a pureblood this entire time, from one of the most noble and ancient families."

"What is it exactly that Voldemort wants from me?" she asks.

Lucius hisses and grasps his left arm.

"Don't speak his name," he orders.

"S—sorry… what is it that You-Know-Who wants?"

"You've already done it. Tonight, in there," he says, pointing towards the ballroom.

Realization sinks in and Hermione feels like she's going to be sick.

"All of this wasn't really about making me feel welcome, was it? This was some sort of—of pageant for me to be paraded around in front of those still on the fence about where their loyalties lie in the war!"

_I'm just a pawn._

"None of you actually care," she whispers, more to herself than to Lucius. "My whole life has been pulled apart at the seams, and I thought that maybe… maybe it would be okay because…"

She thinks of all the time she's spent getting to know Narcissa and Draco, thinking they were actually connecting.

_It's all been a show._

"It's not what you think," Lucius tries to explain. "Not entirely. Narcissa and Draco have no notion of the Dark Lord's plan. I assure you that everything she has done for you has been out of love. She cared very dearly for your mother. They were very close."

Hermione looks at him, trying to determine if he's lying or not.

"Why would you tell me all of this?" she asks.

Lucius tilts his head back and stares up at the stars, taking the deep breath of a man about to make a plunge.

"Because I need your help."

She can't stop the derisive laugh that bubbles up in her chest.

"It seems to me as if you've already had it," she points out.

"I can't deny that, but I must ask for further assistance."

"What more could I give you?"

His cool eyes lock with hers once more and she finds herself having to look away, feeling suddenly flushed.

"I want out," he says simply. "I have made a grave mistake and I want out. I no longer wish to serve the Dark Lord."

His eyes drift close and he bows his head, looking as if a weight has been lifted from his broad shoulders.

Hermione tries to hide her shock.

"Have your views on blood purity changed?" she asks.

"No, they haven't, but that's not why I want out."

"Then why?"

"I chose my side many, many years ago. I swore my service to someone I viewed as a visionary, but that man has long since disappeared, being replaced by a madman. It was one thing when it was just myself I had to worry about, but I don't want Draco to be forced to follow my footsteps. I don't want him at risk for  _my_  failings. I want to protect my son."

_Lucius may be many things,_  she thinks,  _but no one can deny he is a loving father._

"How could I help you?"

"The Order would never believe me," he says. "They don't trust me."

" _I_ don't trust you," she counters.

"Maybe not now, but you could learn to."

She shakes her head in disbelief.

"Please," he begs. "I'm only asking you give me a chance. Just that you consider pleading my case to the Order."

His expression is so earnest, so imploring and desperate, Hermione can't bring herself to say "no".

"I will think about it," she says diplomatically.

The smile he gives her is so radiant it's almost blinding.

Lucius takes her hand and bends down to kiss it.

When he sits back up she hopes it's too dark for him to notice her blush.

"I—I should go back," she says, standing up. "Before someone notices and comes looking."

Lucius stands as well, following her lead, trailing behind her as she moves closer to where the lights spill through the tall windows.

"I envy you," he says from beside her, staring in at all the guests milling about.

"You do?"

"I love a good party," he admits.

"I'll trade you places," she offers sardonically.

The voices of partygoers drift out to them, a low humming of chatter beneath the slow waltz the quartet has just struck up.

"I love dancing," he tells her, and she shoots him a curious look.

_Lucius Malfoy, one of Voldemort's top lieutenants, enjoys ballroom dancing._

"You're full of surprises tonight," she says with a small smile, unable to help herself.

"May I ask you for one more favor?"

"I don't see why you should stop now," Hermione sighs.

"Will you dance with me?"

She's positive she must have misheard him, but when she turns to face him Lucius is holding his hand out to her.

Not sure what makes her do it, maybe too much champagne while socializing, but Hermione takes his hand and allows him to pull her closer.

His fingers intertwine with hers, and he rests his other hand on her waist.

Hesitantly, Hermione places her free hand on his shoulder, surprised by the firmness she can feel beneath the soft fabric.

He's at least a head taller than she is and she's forced to look up to see his face; Lucius is staring down at her from beneath his long lashes, wearing a soft smile.

They twirl in the shadows of the garden, out of sight from those inside, and Lucius turns out to be an extremely graceful dancer.

_Much moreso than Viktor was_ , she finds herself thinking.

The music swells and he spins her out, pulling her back even closer.

Hermione becomes increasingly aware of how close their bodies are, and the way she can feel the heat of his hand burning through her robes.

She tries to remind herself just whom it is she's dancing with, but she's finding it difficult to keep hold of coherent thought.

Lucius dips her dramatically, staring down at her, his face softer than she's ever seen it. His lips part as he studies her, but whatever he is planning next is lost as the moment shatters.

"Hermione? Are you out here?"

It's Draco.

Lucius pulls Hermione back upright, his face once more a cool mask, and he starts to slip back into the deeper shadows of the garden, still holding her hand as he does so as if he doesn't quite want to let go.

"Hermione?"

Hermione shakes her head to clear it and pulls her hand free, going to find Draco.

"I'm here," she says, feeling surprisingly breathless.

Draco is standing just outside the glass door to the ballroom.

"There you are," he says, "mother was looking for you."

"I just needed some fresh air."

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Yes, I'm fine. Ready to go back in now," she insists.

Draco nods and throws his arm around her shoulder as he did earlier and leads her back towards the party.

Hermione spares one glance over her shoulder at the garden, but she can't see Lucius anywhere. She doesn't doubt he's still out there, it's like she can feel his eyes on her.

Back inside she mumbles something to Draco about needing a drink and slips away, heading for a banquet table off to the side of the room, covered in glasses of champagne.

Snatching one up, she downs half of it in a single gulp.

"So what's going on with you and Malfoy?"

Hermione snorts into her cup, choking on her champagne.

"I—I'm sorry?" she asks, finding Ginny standing beside her, staring appraisingly.

"First, when he brought you down to the party this evening, you two seemed awfully buddy-buddy. And now I just saw you coming in from the garden together  _with_ his arm around you."

"Oh, Draco?" Hermione clarifies, relieved. "Nothing is going on!"

Ginny glares fiercely, channeling her mother.

"You can't just forgive the way he's treated you for six years, just because he wants to be nice now that your blood status changed!" Ginny argues.

"I know! I haven't. Nothing is going on. We're just getting to know one another. Not like that," she adds as Ginny's eyebrows disappear into her hairline. "If you must know, I've been giving him private lessons. Helping him study and get ready for school this year."

"You're tutoring Malfoy?" Ginny laughs.

"Yes, and don't you dare tell anyone. I reserve the right to be there to see Harry and Ron's faces when they find out."

The girls share a conspiratorial smirk.

"That's it though, right?" Ginny presses. "There's nothing else going on?"

"No! Of course not. Do I need to point out that technically we are cousins?  _First_ cousins at that… It's gross!"

Ginny looks relieved and Hermione shakes her head in disbelief before downing the rest of her champagne and reaching for another glass.

"Speaking of Malfoys," Ginny whispers, "have you seen Lucius skulking about the manor?"

"Do you really think a wanted man would return to his own home?" Hermione asks, choosing her words carefully.

_There. I didn't lie. I just didn't answer._

"Good point. At least there's that. Dad wouldn't want me to say anything, actually he wouldn't want me to know,  _thank you extendable ears_ , but the Order is concerned about Voldemort having some sort of plan for you," Ginny says looking worried. "Do you think that's true?"

Hermione scans the area around them and pulls Ginny to the edge of the room before casting  _Muffliato_  again.

"I do think it's true," Hermione admits, "but I don't think I am in any danger."

Ginny goes white.

"Everyone in this room, aside from your family, are all neutral on this war Voldemort is waging."

Hermione rushes on to explain what Lucius told her in the garden, about how she's now the mascot for the opposing side.

"How do you know all this?" Ginny asks.

"I—I mean I don't for sure, but after seeing the guest list I found it odd there were no Voldemort sympathizers on it. This is just speculation."

"It makes a lot of sense. I'll be sure to pass it along to dad."

"There you are!" Narcissa exclaims, spotting Hermione and Ginny.

Wordlessly, Hermione drops the Muffliato charm.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were looking for me," Hermione lies. "Ginny and I were just talking about the plans for her brother's wedding next month."

"You're still coming, aren't you?" Ginny asks.

Hermione looks to Narcissa questioningly.

"You are more than welcome to join her," Ginny tells Narcissa.

"I'll have to check our schedule, but I don't see why Hermione would be unable to attend."

The younger girls beam at one another.

"May I steal you away?" Narcissa asks. There are still so many people wishing to meet you."

Once more Hermione finds herself pulled into introduction after introduction. She smiles, offers hellos, and responds only when necessary.

Several times she catches her attention wandering to the dark windows overlooking the garden, wondering if Lucius is still out there watching the party, or if it is only in her imagination that she feels his eyes on her.

Eventually the party begins to dwindle and guests start to take their leave.

Ginny, Arthur, and Molly are some of the last to go. They all take turns hugging Hermione and promising to see her again soon.

Narcissa watches on with a clenched jaw but says nothing.

When at last the final guest leaves Narcissa beams brightly at Hermione, telling her how wonderful she did, before bidding her and Draco goodnight.

As Hermione and Draco exit the ballroom, Hermione sets her empty champagne glass down and begins to massage her temple.

"Hangover kicking in already? How many of those did you have?" Draco asks.

"I don't know; maybe three or four… or six. People kept handing me new ones."

"You're definitely going to feel that tomorrow."

"Any good tips?" she asks. "I feel like you've probably been in this situation a lot more than I have."

"Why Miss Black, I am  _offended_!" Draco insists with mock hurt. "Enjoy your hangover. And don't forget we have a lesson in the morning."

Hermione groans and trudges off to her room, already not looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

**AN:** I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has left a review, it truly makes me smile every time I get an email alert. You are all awesome! Even those of you who are just leaving kudos I really appreciate it. I honestly just started this fic for myself, so the support has been a very welcome surprise. Thank you!

 


	6. Chapter Six

The sun rises much earlier than Hermione feels is absolutely necessary, streaming brightly across the room causing her to retreat with a low groan beneath her blankets.

Her head is aching; pulsing with each beat of her heart. Her stomach rolls and she is simultaneously nauseas and hungry. She tries to recall what she ate last night, but she can't remember anything other than a few finger foods and the champagne.

_Pop!_

Hermione groans again, burrowing further beneath her blankets as she hears Kinny's arrival.

"Good morning, Miss," Kinny greets her brightly. "Master Malfoy has instructed I bring you a special breakfast this morning."

Curiosity gets the best of her, despite how she must squint when she finally surfaces, and Hermione drags herself out of bed to inspect the tray the elf is setting in the sitting area.

_Fresh fruit, toast, water, and tomato juice._

"Thanks, Kinny," Hermione says quietly as she grabs the juice.

She takes a big sip and snorts into her cup.

_Not just tomato juice._

There is a small hand scrawled note on the tray.

_Fruit and water to rehydrate you, toast to settle your stomach, and a bloody mary for the headache. Perfect start for the morning after._

She grimaces but takes another drink of the bloody mary, supposing Draco knows better than she does.

By the time Draco's lesson arrives, Hermione is feeling almost back to normal.

"You're looking well," Draco notes when she meets him in the courtyard.

"Your suggestion was very helpful."

"What suggestion was that?"

"Breakfast this morning?" she prompts.

When Draco still looks confused, something clicks.

" _Master Malfoy has instructed I bring you a special breakfast this morning."_

At once Hermione realizes it was not Draco who sent her breakfast.

"Sorry," she rushes, "I meant your elf's suggestion. Kinny brought me just the thing to get me back on my feet."

"Oh. Well damn," Draco sighs, "I thought I'd have a shot at disarming you today."

"Show me what you've got," Hermione taunts.

She plasters on a smile as she takes her stance, not really feeling it. She can't shake the thought of how she swore she felt Lucius watching her from outside the ballroom last night, and how he  _must_  have been to know she'd have a hangover.

_He's just trying to butter you up so you'll speak with the Order on his behalf,_  she tells herself.

Recalling Lucius' expression the previous night, the way his eyes pleaded with her to trust him, Hermione's not sure what to think.

"Ow!"

Draco shoots off a stinging hex that grazes Hermione's neck. She'd been too distracted to see it coming.

"Getting slow, Hermione!" he taunts.

She dodges another jinx he sends her way, and returns the favor throwing an  _Impedimenta_ at Draco. He's on his best game today, and easily sidesteps the assault.

They keep at it, throwing and dodging spells, sidestepping each other in a large circular pattern, almost like a dance.

_Why did you dance with him?_  Hermione suddenly asks herself, thoughts wandering back to Lucius.

She can feel the phantom heat of his hand on her waist.

Quite suddenly the phantom heat becomes a very real burning as something punches into her middle sending her reeling. As the air rushes from her lungs, Hermione watches her wand fly from her hand, arc across the garden, and land gracefully in Draco's outstretched hand.

"Yes!" He shouts triumphantly, punching the hand holding her wand skyward. "I actually did it! I disarmed the know-it-all!"

"Draco!"

Narcissa appears behind her son, a chastising look upon her face.

"Hello, mother," Draco beams.

"You are behaving exceptionally unsportsmanlike," she rebukes and nods towards where Hermione still sits on the ground.

Draco flushes slightly, but the pride is still twinkling in his eyes when he offers to help Hermione up.

She can't fight the small smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth as she takes his hand.

"Nice work, Draco," she congratulates him while mentally cursing herself for becoming distracted.

_Thinking of Lucius Malfoy of all people._

"What can I say, I've had a great tutor."

Draco passes Hermione's wand back to her as the pair turn to Narcissa. She doesn't usually interrupt their lessons.

"I just wanted to remind you of your plans this morning," Narcissa says, staring at Draco. "The Parkinson's are expecting you at eleven o'clock. Try not to be late."

Draco nods stiffly.

"Hermione, dear, I am so sorry, but I'm afraid I've been called away and will be out of the country for the next day or two. There has been a problem with some of our holdings in France that I really must see to."

"Of course, I completely understand," Hermione assures her.

"If you don't wish to be alone here, I'm sure you would be more than welcome with Draco at the Parkinson's."

_An afternoon with Pansy? Uh, no…_

"Oh, no I wouldn't want to intrude. Besides, I'd quite like to spend some more time in your library."

"Are you sure?" Narcissa presses.

An echo of Pansy's shrill laughter rings in Hermione's ears.

"Quite. Thank you."

When Narcissa is positive that both Draco and Hermione will be fine she gives them both hurried hugs and rushes back to the house to take her leave.

"You should come with me," Draco insists as he walks Hermione back inside.

"Um, no, I'd  _really_ rater not," Hermione insists, no longer able to keep the distaste from her tone.

"Lucky," Draco sighs.

"What? You don't want to go either?"

"And spend the day listening to idle gossip, jealous rumors, and whiny bitching?"

Hermione laughs at the look of disgust on his face.

"I thought you and Pansy were, you know… an item?" she questions.

He shrugs, staring down at the ground.

"Our families want us to be," he says simply.

Hermione frowns.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"I… I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! This isn't the Dark Ages! You don't  _have_  to do what your family wants. You  _can_  think and feel for yourself, Draco."

"You don't understand," Draco sighs. "It's more complicated than that. I have a legacy to carry on. I'm the Malfoy heir. Family must always come first. If you wouldn't have grown up with those muggles, you'd understand."

The casual mention of her "parents" pulls Hermione up short. Her mind automatically pulls up images of her childhood with  _those muggles,_  as Draco put it.

_Her dad teaching her to ride a bike… baking with her mother… family trips to the bookstore… the day she found out she was a witch._

" _Hermione, wherever you go in life, and whatever you do, we will always be proud of you."_

"You're right," she says harshly, "I wouldn't understand. My parents didn't treat me like a prisoner or a pawn to build their legacy."

Her sudden lashing out surprises Draco, she can see the hurt in his eyes, though he is quick to hide it.

"Thank you for the lesson today," he tells her formally. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some place to be."

As soon as he's gone Hermione feels a bit guilty.

_I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have called him a pawn._

Groaning and shaking her head at herself, Hermione wanders aimlessly towards the library, her heart aching from the memories Draco elicited.

Her original intention had been to start exploring the books of magic not covered in the Hogwarts curriculum, but she pays no attention to the book she grabs off the shelf.

She settles into a couch by the fireplace, and flips to a random page, unable to read through her tears. They stream silently down her face, glistening as they splash onto the pages.

Hermione's not sure how long she sits there, staring, but not really seeing, before she feels the couch dip beside her.

Caught off guard, she jumps and looks over to find Lucius sitting beside her. Hermione tries to discreetly wipe her tears away, but he's already spotted them and wordlessly offers her a silk handkerchief.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hermione accepts the cloth and dries her face as best she can.

"Thank you," she tells him hoarsely, offering the damp handkerchief back.

"Of course," he replies softly, and then adds, "keep it."

Her hand falls back to her lap and she looks away, the tingle of embarrassment at being discovered in a moment of weakness starting in the pit of her stomach.

They sit in silence, and Hermione wonders why Lucius isn't pestering her to know what's wrong, or trying to show her how  _good_  he can be. Surely this is a golden opportunity to attempt to win her over to sway his case to the Order.

Finally, she has to ask.

"Why aren't you asking me what's wrong, or if I'm alright?" she asks, a little sarcastically.

"Because I am neither blind nor an imbecile."

She watches him expectantly, waiting for an elaboration.

"It is obvious what's wrong," he sighs. "Your entire life was ripped away from you in one evening, you were sent off to live with your sworn enemies, and now you are wrapped up in political war games that are beyond your control. Given all of that, and the fact I found you sobbing into a  _two-hundred year old book_ , I'd say you are not alright."

She looks down at the wet, brittle, pages of the book she's holding and feels her cheeks heat up. Hermione sets the book aside, leaving it open to dry and turns in her seat to better see Lucius.

"Are you just here to state the obvious, then? Or did you just want to save your collection from an emotional girl?" she asks.

Lucius shifts uncomfortably under her stare.

"I'm here… because I know Draco and Narcissa are out, and I didn't think, considering your current emotional state, that you should be by yourself at this time."

_I think that is his way of saying he didn't want me to be lonely._

Hermione doesn't know how to respond, so instead she says nothing.

Neither does he.

They sit there silently, switching between watching the flames in the fireplace and covertly glancing at one another when they think the other isn't watching.

It's tense at first, and Hermione can't help but relive their time in the garden the night before.

Studying Lucius' profile, his high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, and long shining hair, he is every bit the aristocrat. She really shouldn't be surprised at how graceful a dancer he is.

The way he carries himself, so self-assured, as if everything is beneath him ( _granted he believes that,_  she thinks), is breathtaking she must admit… if only to herself.

_Lucius Malfoy… breathtaking?_

She blinks rapidly shoving the thought away and stares into the flames harder than before.

"Thank you," she finally manages, "for your breakfast recommendation. It was just what I needed."

"You're very welcome. I assumed that being the center of attention, you probably had more than a fair share of drinks pressed on you."

"Everyone was very persistent," she admits.

"They were trying to woo you."

"Woo me?"

It wasn't just the men offering her drinks, and Lucius must read her thoughts on her face.

"You are  _new_  old blood. Even if they won't admit to believing in blood superiority, don't for a second think that the people you met would consider marrying into a family with anything less than the purest of bloodlines," he explains. "There are not that many options for pureblood matches anymore, not with all the old families producing less and less heirs as time goes on. And here you are, a beautiful, intelligent witch from one of the sacred twenty-eight. They'd kill to marry you into their families. I wouldn't be surprised if Narcissa begins receiving offers for your hand soon."

"O—offers for my hand? You can't be serious. I barely talked to anyone long enough to remember their names, let alone decide if I would want to  _marry_  them!"

"Don't worry. Narcissa would never agree to a match without consenting you first, this isn't the Dark Ages after all."

His words echo what she said to Draco earlier, and she feels the need to apologize to him strengthen.

_Draco was raised knowing his parents would find him a suitable match, no wonder he feels so obligated._

"It doesn't matter if she checks with me, I can say right now my answer will be no," Hermione insists.

Lucius arches a perfect eyebrow at her.

"Set on another are we?"

"What? N—no," her mind jumps briefly to Ron, but she pushes his face away. "I have other plans for my future than just… just marrying and popping out babies to further a bloodline. I'm going to do something  _useful._ "

"Why Miss Black, I thought an enlightened young woman such as yourself knew that women were capable of more than one task? You can be the matriarch of a household and still be ' _useful'_  as you put it."

_Lucius Malfoy a feminist… didn't see that one coming._

"Do you have any idea of all that Narcissa does?"

"I… I know she's taking care of the family business,"  _whatever the hell that is,_ "while you are… occupied."

"You mean on the run? Don't spare my feelings. I am where I am for a reason. But, it's not as if she suddenly took up my mantel, Narcissa has been my partner for years. In addition to that she also does quite a lot of charity work. Have you heard of the Abraxian Foundation?"

Hermione wracks her brain. She knows she's heard of it before.

"Oh! Yes, it's a charity that helps fund research into discovering vaccines for contagious diseases. It's quite prominent, I believe."

She remembers reading a pamphlet about it on her visit to St. Mungo's last year to visit Arthur.

"Narcissa is a member?" she asks, intrigued.

"No," Lucius corrects, "she's the founder. She named it after my father, Abraxas, who died of Dragon Pox. She also makes regular donations she thinks I don't know about to the Children of War fund, a charity dedicated to helping orphans of the last Wizarding War."

Suddenly Hermione feels a little guilty. Her first assumption had been that Narcissa was a prissy trophy wife that enjoyed shopping, and grooming her family. While that has shifted in Hermione's time at the Manor (she's come to see Narcissa as sweet, funny, and caring), she still didn't picture Narcissa doing anything that required true work.

"So, as I was saying, getting married doesn't mean the end of your life," Lucius tells her.

"Be that as it may, I am  _not_  okay with being auctioned off, or sought after just because of my blood!" She argues. "It's not just me, you know. Draco doesn't want anything to do with Pansy."

"He told  _you_  this?"

"Just before he left earlier."

Hermione leaves out their fight and her rude words.

"Hmm… I see. Well," Lucius ponders, "while first cousins is a bit closer than normal, it's not unheard of. In fact, I'm certain one of the Nott boys just married his cousin last summer…"

"Wait, what? What are talking about?"

"About you and Draco. You would be an ideal match. You get along… well you do now. You are of similar intellect. I stress  _similar._ You would be hard pressed to find an equal. Narcissa would be thrilled to keep you under our roof. It could work."

Hermione stares at Lucius incredulously.

_He can't be serious._

"That is  _ridiculous,"_ she argues jumping up to stand in front of him. "How can you think I'd marry someone who spent  _years_  tormenting me? And yes, we may be getting along now, but that doesn't erase all of our history!"

Her anger seems to amuse him; he smirks up at her unashamedly.

" _Hermione Malfoy_  does have a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Oh I'm sure it's all great fun for you to sit on the sidelines, planning the lives of others. The only effect it'd have on you is going from  _Uncle_ Lucius to  _Daddy._ "

Something flashes in Lucius' eyes and he stands up, towering over her. At first she thinks he's angry with her, but looking up to meet his gaze her stomach twists with something that has nothing to do with fear.

"As I said earlier," he says softly, his voice lower by an octave, " this is not the Dark Ages. You will have a say in your future. I was merely making a suggestion based on my recent observations."

Mouth too dry to respond, Hermione just gives a small nod.

The grandfather clock on the other side of the room begins to chime drawing Lucius' attention.

When he looks back at Hermione the flash in his eye is gone, and he is once more presenting an air of cool indifference.

"As we are the only two still in the manor, would you care to have lunch with me?" he asks, his voice back to normal as well.

Looking up at him, not wishing to anger him and unsure how to politely decline, she accepts the offer.

"Of course," she says, trying to muster a smile, though she's fairly certain all she does is grimace.

Either way, her response seems to amuse him.

"Kinny!" Lucius calls with a snap of his fingers.

_Pop!_

"Y-yes, Master Malfoy?" the elf asks, nervously.

"I will be joining Miss Black for her afternoon meal today. Please have lunch for two set up in her chambers," he instructs.

_In my room?_

"My dear wife still doesn't wish for me to speak to you," he explains, as if reading her mind. "I thought we should go somewhere we are unlikely to be interrupted. I also assumed you'd prefer your chambers to mine."

Her eyes widen slightly and she nods her head in agreement.

Mirroring her first full day in the manor, they walk to her room in silence.

When they reach her door, Lucius holds it open for her and she tries to hide the hesitation in her steps.

_You are alone in this house with an escaped Death Eater, her brain warns her._

_If he wanted to hurt me, he already would have,_ she tries to reassure herself. _He's had plenty of opportunity. Besides, the ring Dumbledore gave me will snap me out of here if I'm in danger._

She's a little surprised to find a small table near the large domed window, already set for two, and even more surprised when Lucius beats her to it and pulls out a chair for her.

Sitting down with a quiet "thank you," Hermione glances over towards the closed bedroom door, feeling increasingly on edge.

As usual, the elves outdid themselves, preparing an elaborate meal of roast duck, potatoes, salad, and an array of fresh bread and cheeses.

_How does Narcissa keep her figure eating like this every day? I'll need to start exercising if this keeps up._

Lucius begins serving the food, filling Hermione's plate for her, surprising her once more.

"Is your plan to charm me into speaking to the Order about you?" she asks, partly in amusement, the other in all seriousness.

"My dear, I am simply displaying manners. I understand how that may be disconcerting to you, considering the company you have been known to keep, but trust me, if I were trying to charm you it wouldn't be by simply holding doors and passing dishes."

Her tongue is faster than her brain.

"How would go about charming me?" she asks. "You seem rather sure of yourself."

Hermione picks up her fork and starts with her salad, spearing a tomato.

"Being charming isn't something you can plan," he says haughtily, "it has to be spontaneous. If it isn't then it is not truly charm, it's manipulation."

"A distinction I'm surprised you understand."

As she takes a bite of her food she swears she hears him mumble "cheeky witch" under his breath.

"For example, when I saw you last night in the garden, the moon reflecting off of your white robes, I rather thought you looked like a siren clothed in starlight, luring me out of the safety of shadows and right into your grasp."

Hermione's fork pauses halfway to her mouth and she stares at him disbelievingly.

He's watching her with an expression she'd almost say was wistful, but he quickly schools his features and gives her a cocky smile.

"Of course, by telling you that now you don't know if that was truly what I was thinking, or if it is something I came up with after the fact in order to soften you up to my plea."

Hermione pinches her previously open mouth into a tight line, only causing Lucius to smile brighter.

"Whether you try to charm or manipulate me, Lucius, I can promise you both would be a waste. I won't fall for your pretty words," she assures him. "If you truly want to show me you've changed, and that you're ready to work with the Order, I'm going to need something a little more solid than your promises."

"What would that be?"

"Action. Prove to me you've switched sides."

"Are you mad?" he asks. "You wish for me to-to what? Make a move against the Dark Lord? Without any guarantee of leniency from your people?"

"I don't mean anything so drastic as assassinating the other lieutenants, though I wouldn't be surprised if that was within your skill set. I just want you to do what you already do," she clarifies. "Go to meetings, gather information, and share anything that might be useful to my side with me."

Lucius steeples his hands in front of his mouth, deliberating her proposal.

"If I provide you with useful information, you will advocate for me?"

"I promise."

"Then I suppose I am now your own personal spy."

 


	7. Chapter Seven

After lunch Lucius excuses himself, and Hermione wonders what he's off to do.

_I can't imagine a man on the run has an overbooked social calendar._

Wishing she had next years school books, and making a mental note to ask Narcissa about going to Diagon Alley, Hermione sits down to write Harry and Ron a letter.

_Dear Troublemakers,_

_I hope you two are well... and not up to anything that will get you either maimed or killed. I just wanted to see how you are, let you know I'm still doing alright, and tell you that I miss you terribly._

She sighs, wishing they were here with her. There's so much she wants to discuss with them, and so little she feels safe putting in a letter.

_I'm going to try to get to Diagon Alley this week, is there any chance you could make it as well? I know it's rather short notice considering the current political climate, but I would love to see you._

_Please let me know when works best for you and we can go from there._

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

Placing a charm on the parchment that should prevent anyone other than the boys from reading it, Hermione seals her note in an envelope and sets out to find an owl.

While the manor doesn't have an owlery, the Malfoys do have several birds used for delivering mail. Hermione's favorite is a smoky black owl with luminescent blue eyes that goes by the name Faeren.

Faeren is the smallest of the lot, and the only one who doesn't seem to find something inherently suspicious about Hermione. The other birds try their hardest to ignore her when she visits, but Faeren immediately flies down to perch upon her shoulder.

Smiling and stroking his feathers, Hermione coos softly at the friendly bundle curling into her neck, before moving him to a stand where she can tie the letter to his ankle.

Faeren nips her finger affectionately before soaring out the window, Hermione watching him go, envious of his freedom.

With a sad sigh, she turns her back on the window and leaves, unsure what to do.

_I really miss having a telly,_  she thinks, wondering what's going on in the muggle world.

"Kinny?"

_-Crack!-_

"Yes, miss?" the elf asks, bowing.

"Has Draco returned yet?"

"Yes, miss. The young Master Malfoy arrived home about twenty minutes ago. He is being in his room."

Hermione chews her lip, debating what she should do.

"Can you show me where his room is, Kinny?"

"Of course. I can be showing you the way!"

The small elf directs Hermione through several turns and upstairs before finally leading her into a wing of the house Draco had only pointed to as more bedrooms.

"This is his," Kinny says, stopping in front of one of the doors.

"Thank you," Hermione says softly, just before the elf disapparates.

Nervously, Hermione raises a shaky hand to rap on the door.

_I can just imagine Ginny's face if she knew I was knocking on Draco Malfoy's bedroom door..._

After a short pause, the door swings open. Draco looks surprised to see her, but quickly hides it, slipping into the air of indifference his parents wear so well.

"Yes?" he asks.

"I was hoping we could talk."

She can see his internal debate before he finally steps aside and welcomes her in.

The black and green decor she had expected to find in  _her_  room is present here in Draco's. It is every bit as Slytherin as he is, and every bit as luxurious as she would expect.

Draco gestures her towards a green sofa at the foot of his bed, and she takes a seat, waiting for him to join her before she speaks.

"I just... wanted to apologize for earlier," she tells him. "I shouldn't have called you a prisoner, or a pawn. I know how important tradition is in your family, I shouldn't have made light of your situation."

Draco doesn't say anything for a long while, instead staring at her looking clearly confused.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" he asks.

"Because, as I said-"

"No, I know why, but  _why_? We aren't friends. We hardly know each other. There's clearly a lot of shit that has went down between us in the past. Why are you wasting your time apologizing to me?"

Draco gets up and stomps off to the other side of the room to a small serving tray sitting on his dresser. He opens a crystal decanter and pours himself a glass of something Hermione suspects is  _not_ pumpkin juice.

"I have to defend apologizing?" she asks, disbelievingly.

"It doesn't make sense."

She stands up and marches across the room to meet him.

"You have been a pain in my arse ever since my first day at Hogwarts, Malfoy!" she accuses, poking him in the chest with her finger. "Every chance you've had you have made my life, and the lives of my friends, a living hell."

"I know!" he shouts. "Don't you think I know that? Why are you here, apologizing to  _me_? After everything I've put you through..."

Draco runs both hands through his hair agitatedly.

A pang of sympathy she never expected pierces her at the look of brokenness on Draco's face.

"I'm here," she tells him softly, "because things have changed. And while the past cannot be erased, we do have a chance to shape a new future. I have glimpsed in you, perhaps very deep in you, and buried beneath a layer of spoiled trust fund baby, a decent person."

Draco smiles sheepishly.

"So," she asks, "are you going to stop being a prat and accept my apology?"

"I accept your apology... and while I don't expect your forgiveness any time soon, I  _would_ like to apologize for the way I treated you at school."

Hermione decides not to ask if he would be apologizing were she still a muggleborn, she knows the answer after all, and instead reaches out to grasp his hand.

"Thank you," she says with a small smile.

Draco squeezes her hand gently before pulling away to pour another drink, this time passing it to her.

Hermione eyes the glass suspiciously, but accepts it and takes a small sip.

"Ugh," she chokes, "what is that?"

"Firewhiskey. Ogden's best."

"Well he should try harder," she groans.

"It grows on you."

She finds herself doubting that very much.

"So, how was your visit with Pansy?" Hermione asks, trying to ignore her burning throat.

Draco glowers.

"That good?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on! I am so bored in this house," she pleads, "entertain me!"

"You find my discomfort entertaining?" he asks snarkily.

Hermione shrugs and tries another sip of her firewhiskey. It goes down much smoother this time.

"Oh, fine," he sighs. "It was dreadful."

"I gathered as much."

"All she did was go on and on about who is dating who, whose family hit a rough patch, and whatever drivel Rita Skeeter is writing these days."

"Drivel? You  _helped_  Skeeter in fourth year write awful things about Harry!"

"How do you think I know everything she writes is fake? That woman will listen to anyone."

"You're unbelievable!" she accuses, but can't smother her laughter. "You did know she was going to be like that today, though."

"It's still frustrating," he grumbles. "Then, on top of all that, she started talking about you."

"Well, I'm not surprised. I'm betting I am quite the gossip goldmine right now."

"Naturally, but she was just being a bitch."

"I am literally shocked," Hermione insists in a mock serious tone.

"Shut up, Granger, I mean Hermione."

"Did you defend my honor?" she asks, snorting into her cup at the thought.

"Sort of."

Coughing on her firewhiskey, she studies Draco trying to decide if he is joking.

"I told her she was just jealous since you're higher up on the list than she is when it comes to marriageable pureblood women."

While there are many other things Hermione would prefer to be known for, she has to give Draco credit for trying to defend her.

"She asked me why I was defending you, said that we weren't even friends," he continues. "I told her I was just sick of listening to her, and then I left."

"Isn't this going to cause problems for you? Won't your parents be mad?"

Draco shrugs, not meeting her eyes.

"Even if it does... I'm no pawn. I don't want to marry Pansy."

Hermione tosses back the rest of her drink, sets the glass down, and throws her arms around Draco.

"I'm proud of you," she tells him as he stands frozen in place.

When she pulls away Draco is staring at her like she has two heads.

"Our family isn't exactly the hugging type," he finally says, curling his lip up slightly.

"I never would have guessed," Hermione laughs. "But hey, who said you can't teach an old ferret new tricks?"

Draco groans.

"Can you please never mention the ferret thing again? I  _still_ have nightmares."

This time neither of them can fight their laughter.

The next day Faeren returns with a reply from the boys, asking if Hermione can make it to Diagon Alley the following morning.

"Do you know when your mother will be back?" Hermione asks Draco from across the breakfast table.

"Sometime tomorrow evening I think."

She sighs and chews her lip.

"Why? Do you need her?" Draco asks, stirring milk into his tea.

"The boys would like to meet in Diagon Alley tomorrow morning so we can all do our school shopping together. I was hoping she would be back so I could go."

"It's not like you need permission," Draco shrugs, "and you can just use the floo to get there."

Hermione quirks her brow at him.

"You don't think she'd be mad if I went by myself?"

Draco seems confused by her question, and then realization dawns on him.

"Oh," he says, "I understand. I'm sure the last couple years you went you traveled with guards."

Hesitantly, she nods.

"I think you forget that isn't necessary any more. You're a Black. No one would dare lay a finger on you now."

Part of her wants to scream, and rail against the injustice of it all. She wants to shout about how unfair it is that she is now protected by nothing more than a name when there are others out there, muggleborns, who have to be protected by an armed guard lest some pureblood supremacist decides they want to torture a child.

The rational part of her, reminds her that screaming at Draco will accomplish nothing, and that at least she will be able to go see her boys.

With the countenance of a saint, she swallows her anger and bile.

"I guess I will let them know I am coming," she says, voice strained.

She jots out a quick reply, feeds Faeren a piece of bacon, and sends him on his way.

After breakfast she and Draco head out to the garden for a practice dueling session. This time, there is nothing to distract Hermione, and she reminds Draco just who the brightest witch of their age is.

"Did I piss you off?" Draco asks, holding his side as he clambers to his feet after being knocked down for the third time.

"No," she laughs. "You bested me last time, I thought it was time to change the difficulty level."

"Can we go back a notch?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Hermione takes her dueling stance, wand held aloft and aiming for Draco. He mirrrors her for a second, but then lets his wand arm drop to his side.

"So, I was thinking," he starts.

"That's a change."

"Rude!" he chastises, unable to hide his smirk. "I was thinking-  _Expeliarmus!"_

Having been waiting for Draco to get to the point, Hermione had relaxed her grip on her wand. She watches it slip from her fingers and arc across the patio to Draco.

"You cheat!" she accuses indignantly.

"I win," he counters, dangling her wand out teasingly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione charges across the cobblestones and tackles Draco into the grass.

"Oof," he groans, the air rushing from his lungs as he hits the ground.

Perched atop him, Hermione rips both hers and his wands from his hands.

This time it's she who wags them teasingly.

"What the hell Granger?" he huffs.

"Sometimes if you rely too much on magic, Draco, your opponent may surprise you," she lectures. "It's Black, by the way, not Granger."

Hermione climbs off of him and starts back towards the house, pausing only to toss Draco's wand back at him.

_Did I really just correct him on my name?_  she wonders, confused. She hadn't realized she had actually adopted the name in her mind, yet there she was, correcting Draco without a second thought.

She enters the manor through the drawing room, and heads for her room, still caught up on the name conundrum.

She's not paying attention when she rounds the corner in the hallway and collides with something wide and firm that sends her reeling backwards.

Lucius reacts quickly, his hand snaking out to grab hold of her arm. He pulls Hermione forward to prevent her fall, and instead of hitting the ground she tumbles into his arms.

Her hands are pressed to his chest, clinging to his pristinely pressed robes, and she is utterly surrounded by the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne.

_Intoxicating?_

"S-sorry," she mumbles, glancing up at him.

Lucius' face is turned down, staring at her, and Hermione can't dispel just how intimate they must look standing there, with his arms wrapped securely around her and their faces mere inches apart.

After a long pause, Lucius releases his hold on her and Hermione takes a small step back. She lets go of his robes, and tries to smooth the wrinkles she created, running her hands over the fabric unconsciously.

She blushes furiously when she realizes what she is doing and takes another step back.

"Am I to assume that any Malfoy will do?" Lucius asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"I saw the way you were climbing all over Draco out there, and now you're throwing yourself at  _me._ I take that to mean you don't care which Malfoy you get your hands on."

Hermione screws her face up in outrage.

"How dare you?" she exclaims. "I already told you I am  _not_  interested in Draco that way. We were dueling! And you _..._   _you_..."

"Leave you speechless?" Lucius asks, giving her a wolfish grin.

Hermione scowls at him and steps around, intending to march away without another word.

_The nerve!_

"Hermione."

Lucius places a hand on her shoulder stopping her, and she spins around to face him once more, stepping out from under his grasp as she does so.

She crosses her arms, glaring at him, and waiting expectantly.

"I was only teasing, my dear," he insists.

Her scowl only darkens.

"My, my, you do have the famous Black temper," he continues. "It's rather adorable."

"What do you want?" she sighs, letting her arms fall to her side.

Lucius glances surreptitiously over his shoulder and then back at Hermione.

"I have... information for you," he says quietly. "Perhaps we can go somewhere and talk?"

All annoyance forgotten, Hermione stands up straighter and nods eagerly.

"Let's go back to my room," she suggests, looking down the hallway for Draco.

"I wish you weren't so sensitive, I have a hilarious reply to that."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione ignores him and leads the way back to her bedchambers.

Once they are in the privacy of her room, and seated in the reading nook, Hermione is practically bouncing with impatience to hear Lucius' information.

She mostly expects it to be useless information, such as boring meeting minutes from the latest Death Eater gathering, but there is a small part of her that holds onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he will bring her something that could change the tide of the war.

"Shortly after our lunch date," he begins, causing her to crinkle her nose distastefully at the thought of being on a  _date_  with Lucius Malfoy, "I was summoned."

Her eyes widen and she listens raptly.

"I could go on and on and walk you through every minute detail, or even just show you the memory in a Pensieve, but I'll skip to the relevant bit and save us both some time. Wednesday night, sometime after midnight, the Dark Lord is sending a team to attack the home of Belinda Dalyworth."

"Dalyworth," Hermione mouths, trying to recall the name. "Oh! Isn't that the woman who heads the Department of Muggle Relations?"

Lucius sneers.

"Yes. She's the ambassador responsible for fielding all questions and requests from the parents of underage muggleborn witches and wizards."

"She must have some serious protection wards and charms on her house," Hermione muses. "How is he going to get in?"

"The Dalyworth's secret keeper has been... compromised."

Her stomach rolls.

"Thank you," she says finally, meeting his gaze.

Lucius nods tersely, his expression shifting from confliction to resignation.

Hermione is about to tell him he is doing the right thing, but her words are interrupted by a knock on her door.

Her eyes go wide in panic and she jumps up from the window sofa, rushing for the door.

Before she is halfway there it opens and Draco walks inside.

"Draco!" she gasps, and quickly looks behind her to see Lucius is nowhere in sight. "I didn't say come in."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"What if I was naked?" she asks indignantly.

"I'd probably never knock again."

"Ugh," she scowls, walking over to smack his arm. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to ask if you mind whether I tag along with you to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

"What? Really?"

"I mean, we don't have to hang out together all day or anything, I'm sure you'll want some quality time with Potter and Weasel."

She gives him a dark look.

"Weasley, sorry," Draco sighs. "It's just if I go with you tomorrow, and get all my shopping done, mother won't have an excuse to set up a  _shopping date_  with Pansy."

"You could try just telling your mother you aren't interested," Hermione encourages.

"I will... just not yet. Not with everything that's going on. She has enough problems on her plate."

"Well, of course you are more than welcome to join me," she tells him, already hearing the boys' groans when they see her show up with Malfoy in tow.

"Thank you."

Draco excuses himself and Hermione locks the door behind him, cursing herself for not doing that in the first place.

"Lucius?" she asks quietly, glancing around the room.

She checks the bathroom but finds it empty.

_There's probably some creepy tunnel system in the walls,_ she thinks, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Something grabs her ankle, and she barely manages to stifle her surprise, turning her scream into a mere squeak.

Looking down she sees Lucius Malfoy's head peeking out from beneath her bed, his golden hair fanned about him, smirking up at her mischievously with his hand wrapped around her delicate ankle.

Heart still racing, Hermione yanks her leg from his grasp and pulls both feet onto the bed.

She watches as he pulls himself out from beneath the bed and climbs to his feet, somehow still managing to look graceful.

He's still smirking when he's back on his feet and standing in front of her.

"Not. Funny."

"You make the most delightful sounds," he teases.

She wonders what  _delightful_  noises he would make if she were to stretch her leg out and kick him right in the...

"I'll show myself out," he assures her.

Hermione grumbles, not deigning him with a response, something he finds highly amusing if his light chuckle is anything to go by.

Late that night Hermione has the first dream she's had in years about the monster under her bed, only this time it has steely blue eyes, long blonde hair, and makes her pulse race for an entirely different reason.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

The next morning, Hermione is up before the sun, digging through her wardrobe trying to find something to wear. She wants to look like herself as much as possible for her time with the boys, and is sincerely missing all of her jeans.

She finally pulls out a pair of slacks and transfigures them as best she can to look like denim. The cuffs look a little wonky, so she hides them with a pair of knee high boots. Topping it off with a plain white blouse and fitted black robe, Hermione concedes that she still looks  _different_ from her old self, but it's definitely not a bad thing.

Posh Hermione is beginning to grow on her.

_There is something so empowering about a perfectly tailored robe,_  she thinks.  _No wonder Lucius wears little else._

She admires herself in the mirror, turning left and right, wondering if she looks as intimidating as she feels.

Descending downstairs, Hermione enters the dining room, but can't find her appetite. Instead of eating she paces back and forth in front of the large windows, watching the sun climb upwards and waiting for Draco to get up.

Checking the clock repeatedly, she reminds herself that the boys are not expecting her for at least two more hours. It does nothing to ease her eagerness to be out of the manor.

Despite Draco's assurances that Narcissa will not have a problem with them going to Diagon Alley on their own, Hermione finds a small part of her worried that her newfound aunt will show up earlier than anticipated and stop them.

When at last Draco enters the dining room, attempting to stifle a huge yawn behind his hand, Hermione is about ready to combust.

"Finally," she sighs.

Ignoring her, Draco takes a seat at the table and begins smearing an absurd amount of jam on a slice of toast.

She tries to suppress a groan, but is fairly unsuccessful.

Draco takes an exaggerated bite from his toast and looks over at her, chewing thoughtfully. When he finally swallows he gives her his most innocent expression.

"Why, my dear cousin, you're not in a hurry this morning... are you?" he asks.

She shoots him a piercing glare.

"Fine, fine," he sighs, taking another quick bite of his breakfast. "You do realize we're going to be early if we leave right now, don't you?"

"Better early than late," she counters. "Besides, I need to visit Gringotts and convert some of my muggle money to galleons."

"Is that why you're in such a hurry?"

Draco reaches into his robe and pulls out a a small leather pouch. He tosses it across the table, the contents jingling loudly as it lands in front of where she is pacing.

"There," he says, as he begins serving himself a heaping pile of eggs. "That should be more than enough. Can I at least eat breakfast now?"

"I can't just take your money," she argues.

"I got that from mother, so technically it is your money too. It's from the Black vaults."

Hesitantly, Hermione picks up the pouch and opens it, looking inside.

"There must be several hundred galleons in here! I can't accept."

"Hermione, that's hardly a drop in the bucket that is the vast wealth of the Black fortune. That is merely the pocket money, or what's left of it, that mother gave me for the summer. She'd probably give you double that were she here right now."

Deciding it's not worth arguing with Draco over money, Hermione sighs lightly and tucks the pouch of coins into her pocket.

Draco smiles and happily tucks into his breakfast, trying to ignore Hermione's constant glances at the clock and the sound of her tapping foot.

When at last he clears his plate, Hermione jumps to her feet.

"No seconds?" he asks, and then withers under her glare. "I'm only joking. I'm ready to go."

Draco leads her to the nearest study and ignites the fireplace with his wand. Taking the pot of Floo Powder from the mantel, he holds the jar out to her.

"We'll Floo to Borgin and Burke's," he tells her.

Hermione scowls, but doesn't argue, eager to get out of the Manor.

Draco bows and waves her forward.

"Ladies first."

Hermione tosses her pinch of powder and steps into the brilliant green flames, reciting her destination clear and precise.

With a whirlwind spin she finds herself stumbling out of the flames and into a dark and dusty shop. Regaining her footing she steps out of the way for Draco to come through, and uses a quick cleansing charm to clear the soot from her robe.

Draco follows her through only seconds later, and vanishes the dust from his clothing with a flick of his wand.

"Well then, off we go," he tells her, offering his arm.

Just as she's about to take it, something in one of the display cases catches her eye. Unable to resist, her feet carry her over and she finds herself stooping to inspect a pair of handheld mirrors. They are set in heavy brass and their handles are etched with runes.

Running a quick translation in her head, Hermione smiles widely, unable to believe her luck.

Just then, Borgin himself enters from the back room, his eyes narrowing as he spots Hermione.

" _You_ ," he growls, "out!"

Her cheeks flush as she remembers the last time she was in this shop, trying to spy on Draco to discover what he was up to.

"I-I was just curious about these mirrors," she tells him. "How much?"

Borgin snarls, and is about to lash out again, when Draco steps forward to stand beside Hermione.

Borgin's mouth snaps shut.

"She asked you a question," Draco says haughtily.

"Two hundred galleons," Borgin grunts, still eyeing Hermione with suspicion.

Hermione chews her bottom lip.

_Do you really want to spend that much of what is quite possibly blood money?_

_It's for a good cause though..._

"That seems a bit steep, even by your standards," Draco scoffs. "You wouldn't be trying to rip my  _cousin_  off, would you?"

"Cousin?" Borgin asks, blinking stupidly.

"Yes. Hermione  _Black._ "

The shopkeepers eyes widen almost comically.

"I didn't know," he insists, "of-of course you'll get a discount. Your family is so loyal to my shop. How about one hundred galleons?"

Draco opens his mouth to counter, but Hermione places a gentle hand on his arm to stop him.

"I'll take them," she tells Borgin, reaching for her coin pouch. "Can you please wrap them separately?"

Taking her galleons with a shaking hand, Borgin immediately fulfills her request. He hastily wraps each mirror and passes the parcels to her quickly, eager for the young pair to be out of his store.

When they exit, arm in arm, Draco shakes his head.

"That's quit a lot for a silly set of mirrors," he says. "I'm proud of you. You're spending like a true Black now."

Hermione blushes.

"I... really like the rune design on the handles."

She doesn't say anything more, hoping Draco will forget the mirrors, and never wonder if perhaps there is something more to them.

When they exit Knockturn Alley, they are right on time to meet the boys.

Hermione watches as the brick wall at the end of the alley begins to shift and move, the archway to the Leaky Cauldron opening to reveal Harry, Ron, and the small security force that accompanied them.

Hermione hardly takes the time to scan over the faces of Arthur, Moody, and Tonks before she is pulling away from Draco and rushing to throw her arms around the boys.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron groans as she hangs onto them for dear life.

"Missed you too," Harry laughs, squeezing her as well.

It's not until she finally pulls away that she realizes there are tears streaming down her face.

"Sorry," she mumbles, "just being silly."

Reaching into her pocket she pulls out the handkerchief Lucius gave her a few days prior when he found her crying in the library.

If either of the boys notice the extravagantly embroidered "L.M." in the corner of the cloth, they say nothing.

Someone clears their throat behind Hermione, and she turns to see a very uncomfortable Draco.

"I'll just leave you to it," he says stiffly. "I don't wish to intrude."

"You'll come to lunch?" Hermione asks, more to remind him.

Fighting to remain looking neutral, Draco nods.

She sees a flicker of mischief in his eye and before she can wonder what he is up to, Draco leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek before bidding his farewell.

"Cousin," he says, smirking as he turns to the boys. "Potter, Weasley."

Draco bows his head slightly and then turns on heel to disappear into the already growing crowd of Diagon Alley.

Cheeks flaming, she turns back to the boys only to find Harry looking a little green, and Ron practically shaking with fury.

"Come along," Arthur insists, ushering them forward. "Let's not dawdle in the streets."

The trio lets him lead them to their first shop, Flourish and Blotts, while Tonks and Moody hang behind.

"I'll be by the door," Arthur tells them. "I understand you have much you'll want to discuss, but please do it while searching out your school supplies."

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asks as they slip into the rows and rows of bookshelves.

"She wanted to come, but the Order thought it best to keep our party as small as possible," Harry explains. "Ron's supposed to be grabbing her things as well."

Hermione nods, and then pauses to smile widely at the boys.

"I've missed you so much!" she exclaims, practically bouncing up and down. "When Narcissa showed up at my house and told me everything, you were the first ones I wanted to talk to."

"How are you handling it?" Harry asks.

"I... have my ups and downs. Narcissa has been very helpful, and so has Draco to be honest."

"Why'd he kiss you like that?" Ron blurts out gruffly.

"Honestly? Probably just to annoy you two."

"That lousy ferret should keep his hands to himself."

"Draco has been... the perfect gentleman," she insists.

Ron and Harry both look doubtful.

"This isn't important right now," Hermione sighs, waving her hand. "What about you guys? What have you been up to? What has the Order been up to?"

The boys quickly glance at each other and then down at their feet.

"What? What is it?"

"We're not supposed to tell you anything, Hermione," Harry explains apologetically.

"Oh, right, um... My Patronus is an otter, I once said being expelled would be worse than death, and in our first year I lied and told all the teachers I thought I could take on a full grown mountain troll in order to cover for the two of you."

She waits expectantly.

"It's not that," Ron says. "They don't think we ought to tell you anything since you're not fully trained at Occlumency. They don't want your current position to compromise the Order."

Logically, Hermione understands the need for such precautions, but after weeks of her life being pulled apart around her, she doesn't care about logic.

"Are you kidding?" she demands rhetorically. "After everything I've done. Everything I've helped  _you_ do," she pokes Harry in the chest, "I'm supposed to sit quietly on the sidelines and not ask questions?"

"Sorry," the boys mumble, neither meeting her eye.

"I suppose if that's the case then perhaps I shouldn't share what I've discovered about an upcoming attack on a ministry official."

Hermione crosses her arms as both Harry and Ron look up at her in shock.

"What?"

"Who?" they both speak at the same time.

"Oh, am I a welcome member of the Order now?" she asks sarcastically.

"Hermione," Harry pleads, "you know this isn't us. Don't you remember before fifth year being sworn not to tell me anything?"

"Yes, and I also remember you practically screaming the house down when you finally got a chance to express your feelings about  _that_. Why shouldn't I scream, pout, and ignore the lot of you?"

"Because you're smarter than me," Harry says simply. "Always have been. I don't reckon you're about to give that up, especially when someone's life is on the line."

With a resigned sigh, Hermione realizes he is right. She's not going to let some poor witch and her family suffer for her own pride.

"Alright, I'll tell you what I know, but you have to pass it along to the Order as soon as you can, I don't want you two trying to run out and be heroes. Now, come on, let's find our school books while I tell you."

They make their way around the little shop, pulling texts from the shelves as Hermione whispers furtively, telling them about the planned attack on Belinda Dalyworth.

"And it's supposed to be tomorrow after midnight?" Ron asks. "Blimey."

"How'd you find all this out?" Harry asks.

"I can't tell you."

"You're not running around being foolish and playing spy, are you? Ron and I are the ones who are supposed to be reckless."

Grabbing Harry's hand she gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"I promise that I am not playing spy."

_Lucius is._

"It's lucky we got to see you today," Ron says. "Otherwise you might not have been able to get us the information."

"Actually, I have a solution for that."

Hermione finds one of the parcels Borgin wrapped for her.

"Don't open that here," she instructs, handing it to Harry. "It's a mirror similar to the one Sirius gave you. I have the other. We'll be able to talk face to face now."

"Bloody brilliant," Ron beams.

Harry only nods, looking nostalgic as he tucks the package away.

The trio finishes up in the bookshop and returns to Arthur at the front door. He escorts them to the next stop, and the next, so they can gather all of their supplies.

At lunch time Hermione takes charge and leads them all to a little cafe that Draco had recommended.

The boys did not take the news well that Draco would be joining them.

"You can't be serious?" Harry asks, disbelievingly.

"Why the bloody hell would we want to see that prat any more than necessary?" Ron groans.

"Yes, well I highly doubt he's looking forward to you lot either," Hermione snaps, "but Draco has promised to be on his best behavior. I expect no less from you!"

Arthur watches them with a credulous face, clearly not thinking that any of the boys will manage to be courteous.

"We'll just be over here," he says, gesturing to where Tonks and Moody have already taken a seat.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all take a seat and the server comes over to take their drink order.

After a few minutes, the boys groan and Hermione turns towards the door to see Draco has just entered, wearing the expression of a man about to be fed a tub of Flobberworms.

Draco greets them all with a stiff nod before taking a seat between Ron and Hermione.

"I ordered your drink," Hermione tells Draco just as the server reappears with four Butterbeers.

"Thank you."

The four of them place a hasty order for their food, and sit in silence as the server disappears.

Looking around the table, Hermione wants to laugh. All three boys are staring into their laps, only occasionally looking up to glance around the cafe uneasily.

"Did you get your shopping done?" Hermione asks Draco.

"Hmm? Yes, most of it anyways. You?"

"Mostly. I still need to restock my potions supplies."

"I trust you've had a nice morning?" Draco inquires.

"It's been great."

"I'm... glad you had the chance to catch up," Draco says, wincing slightly as he nods towards the boys.

"You mean after your mother swooped in and stole her away from her family?" Ron huffs.

" _We_ are her family. We are her  _blood_."

"Blood does  _not_  mean family," Harry chimes in. " _We're_ her family. We're the ones who have been there for years with her as you and yours tried to destroy everything she stood for."

"You were with  _her_?" Draco scoffs. "More like she was with  _you_ , cleaning up your messes and keeping your sorry arses alive."

Ron opens his mouth to argue, but Harry elbows him.

"He's got us there, mate," Harry concedes, turning to Hermione. "We'd be long dead without you putting us in line."

Though it pains him to agree with anything from a Malfoy, Ron shrugs his shoulders and nods along.

"She's almost got as much of a 'saving people thing' as you do Harry," Ron chuckles.

"Has she saved your arse yet?" Harry asks Draco.

"She's saving my N.E.W.T.S., that's for sure," Draco replies after a tense moment of hesitation. "Hermione has been tutoring me this summer."

Ron groans.

"You've no idea what you've got yourself into," he tells Draco. "Come finals you'll end up with a color coded planner that nags at you every time you flip a page."

Hermione wants to interject, but she doesn't wish to interfere with the fragile peace being wrought, even if it is at her expense.

The food arrives quickly enough, and much to her surprise the conversation continues, though less of a surprise the topic switches to this year's quidditch rankings.

"Boys," she mumbles, rolling her eyes as she digs into her fish and chips.

It's a surprisingly peaceful lunch, until the bill comes. All three boys instantly start digging around in their pockets, trying to foot the bill. Before the bickering and posturing can start, Hermione slips away only to return and tell them she covered the bill much to their chagrin.

Afterwards all four of them go collect their potion supplies together.

"What's going on with Malfoy?" Harry whispers in her ear as they are perusing water fungi.

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno... he was actually being kind of decent during lunch?"

"He promised me he would behave. There's a lot of history between us, but we're both trying to make the best of the situation. He's actually been, well, pretty nice to me."

"Now that you're a pureblood," Harry reminds her.

"Yes, Harry, I know why. Maybe someday he'll see sense when it comes to his prejudices, but for now I'll take what I can get. There is no use for me to be constantly at the throat of one of the three- I mean two people I live with."

She blushes furiously, hoping Harry disregards her slip up.

"Yeah, I suppose," he agrees.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Hermione grabs a jar of luminescent algae from the next shelf and heads to the checkout.

Outside the shop Draco stands off to the side, giving Hermione and the boys some semblance of privacy to say their farewells.

She pulls Harry into a tight hug, eyes prickling as he places a chaste kiss on her hair.

"You be safe," he tells her quietly. "I've lost enough family, I can't lose my sister too."

"Oh, Harry," she practically sobs, pulling him even closer.

"Just remember," he says, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back to see her face, " _constant vigilance!"_

"Constant vigilance," she repeats, wiping away a few errant tears.

Harry steps away giving her and Ron a moment.

Hermione pauses before pulling Ron into a somewhat awkward hug, her cheeks burning as her stomach flutters nervously.

"It was good to see you," she says.

"It was good to see you too," he replies, scratching his head. "I didn't say it earlier, but I-uh-er, that is... you look really nice."

"Thank you. You look good too."

Ron looks around and noticing their audience, all pretending not to hear, his ears turn pink.

"If you need anything, just let us know."

After Ron steps back, Tonks approaches, reaching out to take Hermione's hands.

"I was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you, Cousin."

It takes a moment for Hermione's brain to catch up.

_How could I have forgotten that Tonks is my cousin now?_

"Wow," she says, "I can't believe that slipped my mind."

"It has apparently slipped Narcissa's as well," Tonks tells her quietly. "My mother wanted me to tell you that she will fight for you. Say the word and she will go before the Wizengamot and request you be transferred into her custody." 

Heart twisting, Hermione considers the proposal.

_I could be with friends. Trusted Order members... and lose a possible source of information on Voldemort's actions._

While she still doesn't know how reliable Lucius' information is, she can't risk losing insight into the goings on of the enemy. She has a real chance to make a difference in the war. 

She can't lose it.

"Send Andromeda my thanks, truly, but I... am okay where I am for now. Besides, I come of age soon, and who knows if she'll even get a court date before then?"

Tonks seems slightly crestfallen and confused.

"I'll tell her. Take care, Hermione."

Hermione and Draco watch as the boys and their security detail make their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Thank you," she tells him. "For behaving."

"Just don't expect me to make it a habit," he tells her, but she can hear the humor behind his words.

When they return to the manor, Narcissa is waiting for them, looking extremely anxious.

"Where were you?" she asks as soon as they step from the Floo.

"We were in Diagon Alley," Draco tells her. "I invited Hermione out to do her school shopping with me."

"You couldn't have waited til I returned?" Narcissa demands.

"I could have," Draco concedes, "but we also ordered your birthday present, and I want it to be a surprise."

Narcissa sighs, her expression softening.

"While that is very sweet, I wish you would have asked me first. Or at least let me know you might not be here when I returned."

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologizes, shooting Draco an accusing glare for leading her to believe Narcissa wouldn't care if they went.

"No, no, I'm just overreacting. Things in France were more stressful than I had anticipated. Just ignore me."

Narcissa pats them both on the shoulder and bids them to go put their stuff away and get cleaned up.

"You told me she wouldn't care if we went," Hermione accuses as she and Draco trudge upstairs.

"Well, I lied. Are you really surprised? I handled it though."

"Did you really order her a birthday present?"

"Of course I did. It's from both of us. You're welcome."

Hermione rolls her eyes and turns towards her bedroom, walking away from Draco while mumbling under her breath.

 

* * *

**AN:** Lack of Lucius in this chapter will be remedied in the next!! Thank you for reading and I'd love to hear your feedback!!


	9. Chapter Nine

After tucking herself into bed that night, Hermione unwraps her new two-way mirror. She stares into it, her reflection looking back at her with the flickering candlelight from her bedside table playing across her skin.

"Harry? Ron?" she asks tentatively.

After a few moments the mirror's surface begins to shimmer and shift.

"'Mione? Are you there?"

Harry and Ron appear in the glass, crouched close together and looking out at her.

"It works," she smiles happily.

"Wicked," Ron beams.

"Did you talk to the Order about what I told you?" Hermione asks, eager for news.

They nod.

"How'd it go? What did they say?"

"It didn't go well at first," Ron tells her. "A lot of people were... hesitant to believe, um, well you."

Hermione scowls.

"People worried that maybe you were cursed and possibly leading us into a trap."

"That's absurd, I'm  _not_  cursed."

As she says it a brief flare of worry runs through her.

_What if Lucius is lying to me... playing me. What if it truly is a trap?_

"That's what Dumbledore said," Harry chimes in. "He said that the enchanted ring he gave you protects you from anything like that. After he put in his two knuts, everybody started listening and plans were finally made."

"They kicked us out, though, and we couldn't get our extendable ears past the barricade," Ron adds.

"As long as something is being done."

Hermione is still anxious about the situation, but she does feel marginally better knowing that the Order is taking her tip seriously.

"I have to go," she tells them, "early day tomorrow training with Draco. Please let me know what happens tomorrow night as soon as you know. I won't be able to sleep until I find out how it went."

Ron scowls at her mention of Draco, but the day's activities are catching up with her and Hermione doesn't have the energy to reassure him.

"Goodnight," Ron bids.

"Give 'em hell," Harry says, smirking.

Smiling softly, Hermione tucks the mirror into a drawer in her bedside table, and spells it shut. Then, after blowing out her candle, snuggles into her blankets and falls asleep.

The following morning, Draco manages to disarm Hermione three separate times in their lesson. Her head is elsewhere, and her stomach rolling, worrying about the upcoming attack.

"Are you feeling alright?" Draco asks as he helps her once more from the ground. "I mean, I know I'm good, but I'm not  _that_  good."

"Sorry," she apologizes, "I'm not much of a partner today. I'm just... feeling a bit off. I think I might go lie down for a bit.

Draco nods, telling her to feel better and watching her go with a worried expression on his face.

Back in her room, Hermione tries to take a nap, willing the time to pass her by, but can't fall asleep. Next she settles into the couch near the curved window and tries reading her new school books.

For what is possibly the first time ever, she can't even lose herself in those. In a repeat of the previous day, she begins pacing anxiously back and forth.

_What if it is a trap?_

_No, Lucius seemed too sincere._

_Well, he is a skilled liar... he managed to avoid Azkaban after the first war with Voldemort._

Back and forth she paces.

_I wonder who the Order is sending. Surely Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley, but who else? Will Remus be there? Arthur? Will they finally allow the twins to join in? I know they've been pestering everyone for months._

After a soft knock sounds on her door, Hermione throws herself into bed, pulling the covers up around her.

"Come in," she allows.

Looking quite concerned, Narcissa lets herself in and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Draco tells me you are ill?"

"I'm just not quite feeling myself is all," she tries to reassure.

Narcissa reaches out, placing a cool hand on Hermione's forehead.

"No fever, so there's that at least," Narcissa sighs, sliding her hand down to cup Hermione's cheek. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Thank you, no. I think I'll just spend the day resting."

Narcissa nods, dropping her hand.

"Would you like me to stay and keep you company?"

"I'll probably just be sleeping on and off."

"Alright," Narcissa says, standing up. "If you need anything at all call Kinny and have her fetch me."

"Thank you," Hermione repeats, feeling touched at her concern.

Narcissa leaves, pausing briefly at the doorway to look Hermione over once more on her way out.

_I feel bad for lying to her... but I won't be great company today._

Throwing the covers back and jumping out of bed, she restarts her anxious pacing while running through all the horrible scenarios she can image, which (considering she knows next to nothing about what either side is planning) is quite a lot.

When Kinny pops in at lunch with a tray of soup, Hermione sends the elf away opting instead to take a bath.

_Maybe a long, hot soak will help me relax._

The warm soapy water does wonders for her tense muscles, but nothing to ease her mind.

She climbs out of the tub, slipping into a cream-colored silk dressing gown Narcissa bought her. In a vain attempt to keep busy, Hermione combs out her hair, leaving it to air dry, despite the nifty tricks her new aunt has shown her.

Hearing a noise from the other room, Hermione trudges out of the bathroom, ready to shoo Kinny and her mollycoddling away, and instead finds Lucius waiting for her.

She realizes she's not surprised to see him, which in turn  _does_ surprise her.

_Just an escaped Death Eater hanging about my bedroom, no big deal,_  she thinks sarcastically.

"No wonder your son doesn't know how to knock," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Now, now, no need to get tetchy. I did knock, but you didn't answer."

"That is when  _normal_  people would go away."

"I heard you were ill," he says simply.

Though he doesn't say it aloud, she can hear the words _"I was worried about you"_ floating in the air between them.

_You're losing it_ , she tells herself.

"I've been preoccupied with the information you gave me, worrying about tonight. I thought it best to keep my agitation to myself lest I raise any questions. I didn't hear you because I thought a bath would help relax me."

She knows she is rambling unnecessarily, but she can't seem to stop.

It dawns on her that she's still only wearing a thin silk robe, and though her heart races at the inappropriateness of their current situation, she refuses to let him think he scares her.

"What do you want?" she demands, placing her hands on her hips and holding her chin high.

Lucius runs his eyes up and down her without the slightest attempt at subtlety.

"I wanted to ensure that you were able to make contact with your Order, about tonight?"

"Yes, I was."

"You didn't tell them your tip came from me, did you?"

"No, of course not. They'd think it was a trap," she says, trying to keep her own worries about that out of her voice.

"I do swear it is not a trap. I'll make a wand oath if you'd like," Lucius offers, withdrawing his wand from his cane.

"Thank you, but no."

"Are you saying you trust me?" he asks, with a quirk of his brow.

Hermione snorts in a very unladylike fashion.

"I wouldn't go  _that_  far, but for the moment I do not think you are being dishonest."

"Fair enough," he concedes.

Lucius returns his wand to its holder, but makes no move to leave.

"Is there anything else?" she asks.

He glances around the room, eyes scanning the surroundings, until they fall on the book he gave her. He approaches the table it rests on and picks it up.

"Did you get around to reading this?" he asks, holding it up.

"I did."

"What did you think?"

_Is he stalling? Why does he suddenly want to talk literature?_

"It was... interesting," she admits. "While I do not agree with the sentiments, it was enlightening to read a well articulated account of the reasons behind so many of the pureblood biases."

"You didn't find yourself swayed at all?"

"No, of course not."

"You had to understand some of the concerns outlined," he continues conversationally. "A smart witch like yourself."

He takes a seat on the edge of her bed.

"Haven't I told you flattery will get you nowhere?"

"I was simply stating a fact. Don't deny a compliment, it's in poor taste. A woman of your station shouldn't harbor so much self-doubt."

"I haven't always been a woman of my station," Hermione reminds him, moving to perch lightly on the bed next to him.

"And so you have much to learn."

"And you're going to teach me?" she asks incredulously, turning her head to look up at him.

"Oh, I have much I could teach you," Lucius tells her silkily, his steely eyes boring into her own.

The air in the room seems to thin, and Hermione can feel the warmth pooling in her stomach.

She suddenly loathes her fair skin, knowing how brightly her cheeks must be burning, giving away the thoughts she'd rather keep hidden, even from herself.

"Hello? Hermione?"

A faint muffled voice draws both of their attention. As soon as they break eye contact all of the air comes rushing back, and Hermione takes a deep, calming breath.

"Mione?"

"I believe your table is talking to you," Lucius says, a bemused expression on his face.

Hermione bites her lip and looks back and forth from her bedside drawer to Lucius.

"Don't mind me."

With a heavy sigh she gets up and pulls out the mirror, taking a seat on the opposite side of Lucius, her back against the headboard, keeping him out of the mirror's view.

"Ron?"

_Why is he calling me now? And where is Harry?_

"There you are- oh, uh wow, um..."

Ron turns bright red and looks pointedly away from her, waving his hand at her.

"What?" She asks, confused.

Hermione looks around her and then glances down and realizes why he won't look at her.

The water from her wet hair has soaked the bust of her robe, rendering the creamy material practically see through. She gasps and covers herself with one arm while shooting Lucius a death glare over the mirror for not saying anything.

He gives her a smirk and shrugs one shoulder as if to say,  _what?_

"Sorry," she tells Ron, holding the mirror so he can only see her face.

"My fault, really, calling at a bad time."

Ron's ears are bright red.

"What's going on?" Hermione asks, trying to get him back on topic.

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

She bites back her bitter response, having hoped he had important news from the Order.

"About what?"

"About that kiss yesterday."

She can feel Lucius' interest in her conversation increase.

"What?" she asks, unable to believe  _this_  is what he wants to talk about.

"Why did Malfoy kiss you?" Ron presses.

A quick glance reveals Lucius studying her through narrowed eyes.

"It was  _only_ a peck on the cheek, and I'm sure he only did it to annoy you."

_I'm only feeling defensive because of Ron..._  she tells herself.

"So there's nothing going on between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione rolls her eyes.

_How many Weasleys must I explain this to?_

"There is nothing going on between Draco and I," she swears.

Another quick look shows her Lucius relaxing his scrutiny.

"Look, I need to go," she tries.

"Wait," Ron persists, "I've hardly talked to you all summer... and I thought we had a lot to talk about."

"Well, I have been a bit busy having my entire identity ripped away."

"Yeah, sorry, I know. It's just that- I thought that- you and me... are we...?"

Her heart patters a little, having wanted to talk about  _this_ for quite a while, but now is not the time or place.

"Ron, please, I'm sorry. I can't do  _this_  right now. I really have to go."

His face falls.

"I see, then. Alright, I'll just, uh, leave you to it. Bye, Mione. We'll let you know how tonight goes."

"Bye," she says softly, but he's already gone.

She puts the mirror back in the drawer, this time placing a silencing charm as well.

Hermione crosses both arms over her chest and glares at Lucius.

"For being so supposedly well-bred you have atrocious manners," she huffs.

"So, that's why you aren't interested in any possible suitors," he says, ignoring her jibe. "The young Mr. Weasley. I guess I should be pleased he is a pureblood, even if that family is quite... unfortunate, but I can't help but feel he is entirely wrong for you."

"Don't start this again," she groans. "Ron isn't my... anything,"  _right now,_  "and it's not your business if he was. Shouldn't it be up to me to decide who is right or wrong for me?"

Lucius opens his mouth, undoubtedly to give some sort of smart remark, but she cuts him off.

"I am not going to listen to 'right and wrong' from a Death Eater, who also happened to be unrepentantly ogling a... an underage witch in her private chambers not ten minutes ago."

She tightens her crossed arms around herself more securely.

Her outburst only seems to amuse him.

"Well, my dear, I am trying to remedy that whole  _Death Eater_ thing," he says as smoothly as someone discussing the weather. "Now your other accusation... ogling is such an ugly word. Admiring perhaps, the way one would a piece of art. As for underage, though the Ministry does not acknowledge the aging that occurs from time-turner usage, the body does."

_How does he know about the time turner?_  she wonders.

"Let's see, if I did my calculations correctly, based off of your class load and the number of school days in your third year... you would technically have come of age sometime in the last two weeks."

She shakes her head disbelievingly. She herself had done the math, and her counting her time travel, her birthday should have been yesterday.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she scoffs.

"I don't sleep at night," he says softly, his eyes growing momentarily distant.

Hermione feels herself soften at the sudden look of vulnerability on Lucius' face, but it's gone in an instant, and he gives her pompous smile.

"Well, I think I've let you waylay me enough for one day," Lucius says, standing up.

"I waylaid  _you_?" she questions indignantly.

"Yes, I know, but I forgive you. I am hard to resist."

"So is cancer."

"I have to go get ready," he offers, ignoring her.

"For what?" Hermione asks in spite of herself.

"I'm part of the raiding party tonight."

"You're going to be at Belinda Dalyworth's?"

He nods stiffly and turns towards the door.

Hermione climbs off of the bed and follows him, forgetting all about keeping her arms crossed.

"Be careful out there," she tells him, drawing his attention back to her.

Lucius scans her, eyes running up and down her form once more, expression unreadable.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt any of your little friends tonight."

"Don't let them hurt you either," she says suddenly, surprising both of them.

Once again their eyes lock and Hermione feels her lungs straining for air.

It's not until he gives her one final nod and excuses himself that she can breathe freely once more.

Changing into pajamas a little more suitable to being seen in, Hermione impatiently waits for the hours to tick by, desperately wishing she could be one of the Order members out there tonight.

Narcissa is the only interruption in her anxious waiting, stopping by once more before bed, again telling Hermione to summon her if she needs anything.

After that, Hermione sits by the window, holding her two way mirror tightly, and watches the moon make it's way across the sky.

It's well past two in the morning, when she finally hears her name.

"Hermione?"

She holds the mirror up, catching a glimpse of her face glowing in the moonlight before Harry's appears.

"Harry! What happened? What took so long? Is everyone okay?"

"Slow down," Harry urges, scratching his head. "Everyone is alive. Everyone on our side, anyway. Even if a few are sort of banged up."

"Who?"

"Mad Eye has a new scar on his face, and George lost an ear, but they'll both be okay."

"Lost an ear?" she gasps.

Harry nods.

"Belinda and her family got out okay?"

"They were gone well before the Death Eaters ever showed up."

"Good, good," she sighs. "Wait... you said everyone on our side was alive... what about theirs?"

"Moody killed a Death Eater."

"W-who was it?" she asks, mouth going dry.

"I'm not sure yet, they wouldn't give me details."

_What if it was..._  she can feel the panic in her chest swelling.

"You don't have any idea who it was?" she asks, voice getting higher. "No clues at all?"

"No," Harry swears, "does it really matter? The best Death Eater is a dead one."

_It was him,_  she thinks miserably.  _Lucius was killed and it was all because I asked him to spy. He wanted out and I sent him right back in._

Her eyes start to prickle and she can feel herself on the verge of a breakdown, when she hears her bedroom door creak open.

Her head snaps up, and there he is.

Hair disheveled, black robes rumpled and dusty, but  _alive._

"I have to go, Harry," she says distractedly, not hearing his response as the mirror returns to its natural reflective state.

She's up and across the room in a flash, and throws her arms around a very surprised Lucius Malfoy.

With her face buried in his chest she inhales deeply, reveling in the scent of his cologne, affirming that it is him and not an apparition.

After several seconds she feels him respond, wrapping his arms around her and holding her closer.

When at last she pulls away, taking a step back, she can't meet his eyes, and instead stares down at his shoes.

"I heard someone died," she says quietly, almost defensively.

"I'd imagine you would be thrilled to be rid of me."

This time she forces herself to look up.

"No... I- we need the information you can provide."

"Perhaps there is a Slytherin streak in you yet," Lucius smirks.

_What is wrong with you?_  she chastises herself.  _You're behaving like a schoolgirl with a..._

She shakes her head, refusing to finish the thought.

"Slytherins aren't all bad, you know," he says, mistaking her head shaking as a response to him.

"I'm starting to see that," she agrees. "Narcissa isn't, and Draco may be a prat, but he's not inherently bad."

"And what about me? What am I?" Lucius asks, taking a step closer.

"Useful."

Her answer seems to amuse him.

"How very... practical of you."

"Who died?" she asks him bluntly.

"Dolohov," he sneers. "Good riddance."

Unconsciously, Hermione begins to trace the thin scar that begins at her collarbone and travels across her body, down between her breasts, stopping just above her navel.

Her fingers stop at the collar of her v-neck sleep shirt.

Lucius leans in, brows furrowed, to study the shining pink line and she feels her self-consciousness soar. Normally she has the scar hidden beneath a glamour, but she never keeps it up when she sleeps.

Lucius is the first one to see it aside from the healer who told her it would never fade.

"Dolohov's work?" he asks. "In the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes."

Ever so slowly, he reaches out towards her, giving her every chance to step out of reach. She doesn't, and instead stands still, waiting.

His index finger follows the path hers had just moments before, tracing the thin scar from her collarbone to where it just disappears into her cleavage.

Her skin burns in the wake of his touch, but it's a sensation she knows she could get used to.

"As I said, good riddance," he repeats, anger vibrating through his words.

Seeming to realize himself, Lucius pulls his hand away and takes several steps backwards.

"I should go," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that everything went, for the most part, smoothly tonight."

"Thank you," she says, breathless.

Lucius opens his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it, nods, and lets himself out.

Her legs are absolute rubber, and her breathing is stilted.

Hermione isn't sure she can deny her reactions to him any longer, and tries to look at her recent behavior around Lucius clinically.

_Agreeing to dance didn't mean anything. I had a bit too much champagne, and he seemed so lonely. Just because there was a moment at the end..._

She retreats to her bed, throwing herself onto her back dramatically.

_The other day in the hall I just tripped. There's nothing wrong with being in someone's arms if they are catching you._

_Your reaction to being in someone's arms however is another story._

Hermione groans loudly.

_Why did you hug him?_ she asks herself.

_Because he has proven to be a useful spy, and I was glad that I- WE- didn't lose him tonight._

She pulls a pillow over her face, wishing she could silence the traitorous thoughts demanding to be heard.

_No, no, no. I am absolutely NOT attracted to Lucius Bloody Malfoy. He is a bigoted, elitist, pompous, entitled, Death Eater!_

...  _with strong arms, silky hair, and eyes that could drown you with their depths._

For the first time since her first few days at the Manor, Hermione can't help but wish for September first to arrive and carry her away from her new, and growing more complicated by the day, life.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

Hermione doesn't see Lucius for two days after Voldemort's failed raid. Something she tells herself she doesn't care about.

She decides her reactions to him so far must be solely based upon the extreme emotional upheaval she's faced as of late, and while Lucius may not have had his whole life stripped away, he is struggling to find his identity so perhaps she just sees in him a kindred spirit.

_Why else would I see him as anything other than a bigoted arse?_

She spends her two Lucius free days with Draco and Narcissa, trying to reassure them she is no longer feeling "ill".

Draco tries to take it easy on her during their dueling sessions, but after Hermione lays him out flat three times in a row he decides she is well enough for him to give it his best effort.

She still wins.

"Glad you're feeling better," Draco grumbles unconvincingly as he climbs to his feet for the fourth time.

"I bet you are," she laughs.

Hermione reaches her left arm across her body and twists trying to loosen her tense arm muscles.

"Another round?" She asks, switching the arm she's stretching.

"I don't think my tailbone could handle it," he groans, rubbing his bum with one hand.

"Big baby," she teases. "We can pick up again tomorrow."

"If I can move."

As they are preparing to head inside Narcissa intercepts them, smiling brightly as she informs them they will be having a guest over for dinner.

"Who?" Draco inquires, almost bored.

"Pansy," Narcissa says, as if this will be some great treat. "I know you haven't seen her much over break, and I also thought it might be good for Hermione."

Narcissa shifts her attention to Hermione.

"I know you are very fond of your housemates, and very loyal, but you should at least open yourself to the possibility of expanding yourself beyond that of your own house."

Hermione wants to interject that she has friends in both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but she knows that isn't what her aunt means.

Draco's expression has gone flat, the smile he wears is tight and emotionless, something Narcissa either doesn't notice or chooses to overlook.

"Dinner is at 7," she tells both of them before flitting away, talking to herself about a menu.

"You haven't spoken to her yet?" Hermione asks Draco.

"No, I haven't found the time."

"You're free  _now_ ," she suggests.

Draco sighs.

"I don't know what to tell her. How to break it to her that I want nothing to do with Pansy. Our families have been planning this since we were born."

Hermione pulls Draco over to a patio set and sits him down.

"Maybe you just need to practice articulating why you don't want to marry Pansy," she suggests.

"Because she's a bitch?"

Hermione giggles.

"Well, yeah. I know that. I mean name one thing specifically you can't stand about her."

"Her self-centered attitude."

"That's pretty rich coming from Mr. My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This."

Draco glares at her, but there's no real heat behind it.

"I guess my biggest problem is… she just doesn't understand," he sighs.

"Understand what?"

"That there are more important things going on in the world than who is wearing last season Villavitch robes! How do people still not get it?"

Hermione sits very still. Draco has never once brought up the war to her, and she doesn't want to make any sudden movements and startle him off of the topic.

"People are dying. All over. Disappearing. From both sides. And it's always..." he trails off.

She waits with bated breath.

"... it's always him."

Draco bows his head, and Hermione reaches out a comforting hand, resting it on his knee.

"How do I explain this to mother when she is just as bad as Pansy? The world is burning and she's still planning balls, and arranging marriages. She'd never understand."

"Draco," Hermione whispers, moved and saddened by his words. "I don't think you give her enough credit. I don't know Narcissa as well as you, but don't you see how this is all a coping mechanism for her? She has no idea what tomorrow will bring, what horrors will unfold. Maybe by planning parties, and weddings she is taking what little control she has back?"

"So I should sacrifice my future for her coping mechanism?"

"I didn't say that! You know I think you should speak with her. You should just tell her the truth, exactly what you've told me."

"I just… I can't."

Without another word Draco stands up and stalks off.

_Tonight is going to be so much fun,_  she thinks sarcastically, briefly wondering if perhaps she can fall "ill" again.

 

When it's time for dinner, Hermione decides not to abandon Draco.

_He's definitely going to owe me one for this_ , she thinks bitterly.

As she opens her door to head downstairs, Hermione is almost knocked over.

Draco was sitting on the floor outside her room, leaning against her door, and fell flat on his back when she opened it.

"What the hell, Draco?"

"Can I say I caught whatever you had?" He asks, staring up at her from where he lays on the floor.

She has a brief flashback to another Malfoy, silver hair fanning around him, peeking out from beneath her bed and feels her cheeks heat up before pushing the memory away.

"No," she insists, offering him her hand. "If I have to go so do you."

Draco groans, but accepts her help up and the pair set off downstairs together.

When they get to the drawing room they find Pansy is already present, sitting with Narcissa and chatting.

Pansy's shrill voice is almost too much to bear and Hermione reassesses bailing on dinner.

"Ah, there you are," Narcissa chimes, noticing their entrance.

She and Pansy stand to welcome them.

"Good evening, Draco," Pansy purrs, fluttering her lashes at him, and then turning an appraising eye to where Hermione stands by his side. "Hermione," she greets stiffly.

"Hello, Pansy," Hermione replies as Draco bows his head.

"I'll just go check on dinner," Narcissa tells them, slipping from the room.

Awkward silence lingers in her wake.

"So," Hermione sighs, trying to be conversational, "how has your summer been, Pansy?"

_Maybe, like Draco, there is a decent person buried in there somewhere,_  she tells herself.

"Don't think we'll end up friends just because it turns out you're some pureblood's bastard baby," Pansy snarls.

_Or maybe she really is just a bitch._

"Pansy!" Draco scoffs. "What the hell is up with you? That's my cousin you're talking to."

"Draco, everyone in this room knows you're just playing a role. You may have to be a doting family when your mother is around, but do you really think anyone else buys this new bff bullshit?" she asks, then turns to Hermione. "You may be an obnoxious Gryffindor, but you're at least supposed to be smart. You know he's faking, right? As soon as your usefulness or newness wears off he'll move along. You're just a stepping stone."

In the blink of an eye, Pansy's feral expression turns serene and Narcissa speaks from behind them, popping in just a moment too late to hear her rude guest.

"Dinner is ready!"

As they walk to the dining room, Pansy grabs Hermione's arm keeping her in the hallway.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable here if I were you," she threatens. "The way I hear it you won't be here for long."

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard mother speaking with Narcissa about how many offers the Malfoys have received for your hand already. Apparently some of them are quite generous, and Narcissa is seriously considering them."

"That's not true," Hermione counters.

"I know it's probably hard for you to believe, I mean look at you," Pansy sighs, eyeing Hermione dismissively. "But even the Malfoys have their price, especially with the struggle Lucius has brought upon them."

With that, Pansy releases her and slides past into the dining room, Hermione following in a daze.

_Narcissa wouldn't auction me off to the highest bidder. She'd talk to me about it._

_She hasn't even talked to Draco about his own future nuptials and he is her son,_ her traitorous brain reminds her.

Narcissa and Pansy carry the conversation throughout dinner, with Draco inputting his opinion only when necessary.

Hermione just pushes her food around her plate, trying to forget Pansy's theorizing.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she responds, looking up to see Narcissa staring at her.

"Pansy asked you a question, dear."

"Sorry, my mind wandered away from me."

"That's quite alright," Pansy offers in her sweetest voice. "I was just wondering how your summer has been?"

The malicious glint in her eye is too much, and Hermione decides she is not going to play this stupid game.

"Don't think we'll end up friends just because I'm some pureblood's bastard baby," Hermione retorts without thinking, throwing Pansy's words right back at her.

"Hermione!" Narcissa gasps.

Draco, who had been taking a sip of pumpkin juice, chokes and spits all over his dinner plate.

Underneath the dribble, Hermione thinks he looks proud of her.

"I'm sorry, Narcissa," Hermione apologizes, standing up. "I think I've lost my appetite."

Without another word she leaves the other three sitting speechless and exits the room.

Not wanting to be closed up in her room, and knowing it would only take moments for Narcissa to find her in the library, Hermione stalks towards the back of the house and slips outside into the garden.

The sun is just setting; the summer heat giving way to evening chill.

Hermione takes a deep calming breath, reveling in the scent of rose, honeysuckle, and something exotic she can't quite place.

Wishing to delay being hunted down and reprimanded, she retreats from the house and further into the garden.

Beautifully maintained, and yet somehow still wild, her surroundings feel right out of a storybook.

Stooping to smell a bright pink orchid, she replays her outburst and wonders just how upset Narcissa will be.

_I couldn't do it_ , she thinks.

Looking at Pansy's face, the perfect expression of polite interest, aside from the gleam in her eye, Hermione could see her future stretching before her.

_Dinners, cocktail parties, and galas surround by people who barely tolerate one another, each looking for a way to use the rest as foot-up, eager to climb the social hierarchy. Never knowing if anyone around you is sincere… or trying to sell you off to the highest bidder._

Sighing heavily, Hermione stands back up and continues her stroll down the winding garden path.

She's still not sure she believes Pansy's gossip about Narcissa, but does she truly  _know_  any of these people?

_I miss my mom_ , she thinks, and for the first time since she was told of her parents' deception her heart aches not for their lies, but to be near them.

_I want to see them, but they lied to me for so long and when it was so important for them to be honest about my heritage. I can't trust them. The Order doesn't really trust me. And I can't trust my new family._

_I am truly alone._

The next curve in the path widens into a small clearing with a stone bench off to the side.

Sitting casually on the bench, a book open in front of him, is Lucius.

For some reason Hermione isn't at all surprised to see him. By now it seems natural he would appear when she is feeling at her lowest.

Hesitating briefly, she wonders if he's noticed her or if she can retreat the way she came.

"Good evening, Hermione," he greets her, still buried in his book. "Out for a stroll?"

_So much for retreat._

"You could say that," she replies, still hovering near the entrance to the clearing.

"Why don't you join me?" he asks, gesturing the empty seat beside him.

"I don't wish to intrude."

"Nonsense, it's getting too dark to read anyway."

Her feet move of their own accord, and she settles in beside him as he tucks his book into his robes.

"Shouldn't you be having dinner with Miss Parkinson right now?"

"Who's to say we should ever truly being doing anything?" Hermione counters, rather lamely she must admit.

"Went that well, did it?" he presses. "Oh, do tell. I hear so little gossip these days."

Rolling her eyes, she indulges him and retells the events of the evening, from Pansy's hostility in the drawing room to her own behavior at dinner.

Lucius bursts out laughing, and she realizes it is the first time she's heard a genuine laugh out of him.

His deep rumbling is contagious, and Hermione finds herself joining in his hilarity.

"What I wouldn't give to have seen Narcissa's face."

Hermione stops laughing and groans.

"What?" Lucius asks, turning to look at her.

"I'm not looking forward to facing her," Hermione admits.

"Don't worry yourself. She won't be too hard on you once you explain everything."

" _Should_  I explain everything? I don't want her to be upset with Draco for not talking to her sooner about Pansy."

Lucius quirks an eyebrow at her.

"Perhaps there's less of the 'Black' family attitude in you than I previously assumed, if you're willing to take blame when you could easily shift attention elsewhere."

"Well, Draco  _is_  family," she says, intending to sound pompously aristocratic, but coming across much sincerer than planned.

"Is there anything more important?"

"Depends on your family," Hermione scowls.

"Something else is bothering you."

It's not a question.

Lucius watches her, waiting for her to open up and tell him what's wrong, and surprisingly... she does.

"You don't think what Pansy said is true, do you? You would know if Narcissa was honestly considering accepting a marriage proposal on my behalf, wouldn't you?"

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Lucius sighs.

"Narcissa... does not share all of her plans with me any longer," he admits, "but I do trust she would consult you before making a decision."

"Will she listen to my consultation?"

"That I cannot answer. Perhaps once I could, but I'm not sure I know her mind these days."

The bitterness in his voice draws Hermione up short.

Before she can stop herself she asks a question she's wondered about for a while.

"Do you regret going through with your arranged marriage?"

He looks up again, meeting her gaze but staying silent.

Lucius is quiet for so long she almost apologizes for being so nosy but before she can he finally speaks.

"No... and yes. I do not regret forging an alliance with the House of Black, or the friendship that developed between Narcissa and I, and I certainly do not regret the birth of my son. However, I do wonder how things might have turned out had I been allowed to make my own decisions."

"You could have married for love," Hermione suggests.

For the second time of the evening Lucius starts genuinely laughing.

"In those days I don't think I truly loved anyone or anything aside from myself. I'm not sure I could have found love."

"Well, it's not like you don't still have time. You're not even middle-aged by wizarding standards."

"Shouldn't you be interrogating me to learn more enemy secrets rather than probing my personal life?"

Hermione blushes furiously.

"Do you  _have_  more secrets to share?" she asks.

"I have many secrets I could share with you," Lucius tells her seductively. "You'll have to be more specific."

Resisting another eye roll, Hermione stands up to return the way she came.

"Where are you going?" he calls after her.

She can hear his footsteps gaining on her and spins back around to face him.

"You either have information to share with me, or you don't. If you really wish for me to speak to the Order on your behalf you would stop playing games."

If she's truly honest with herself, it's not Lucius she is upset with, but herself. The way her stomach twisted and breath caught when he used  _that_  tone with her. She's surprised her legs were strong enough to carry her away.

"I apologize if I have offended you," he tells her sincerely, looking slightly oblivious.

_Maybe he wasn't flirting… I mean why would he?_ She thinks self-depreciatingly.  _Leave it to Lucius bloody Malfoy to just be_ that _appealing all the time._

"No… it's okay," she sighs. "I'm just tired, and upset from dinner."

"Would you like to hear the information I have, or perhaps we can talk later so you can get some rest?"

"I definitely want to hear whatever you have now," she insists, retreating back to the bench.

Lucius follows her slowly, and after she sits down and sees him walking Hermione notices a pronounced limp.

"Are you okay?" she asks. "What happened?"

"The Dark Lord was not happy about the failed raid," he explains.

"He did that to you?" she gasps. "Does he know you leaked the information?"

"If he knew, I would be dead already. This isn't from the Dark Lord."

Lucius returns to his seat beside her, shifting to look at her.

"As it turns out, Walden McNair has an alcohol problem… and a bragging problem. A few other Death Eaters overheard him bragging about taking out the ministry's, and I quote, 'muggle-loving bitch' at a pub in Knockturn Alley after a few too many pints."

Despite the growing darkness, Hermione notices the way Lucius' mouth twitches at the corner, resisting a smile.

"At least they assume it was the pints. No one is aware of my well placed Confundus charm lowering his ability to keep his mouth shut. When the Dark Lord heard of McNair's indiscretion he dispatched several of us to collect him."

"You framed him?" she asks.

"I did what was necessary," he replies. "I was one of those sent to retrieve McNair, and let's just say he did not come quietly. One of his slicing hexes ricocheted and hit my leg. I will, however, survive."

"And McNair? Did  _he_  survive?"

Her stomach rolls uncomfortably. She hates McNair, obviously, for being the executioner ready to murder Buckbeak and a Death Eater as well, but she doesn't like the idea of being tied to the plan that essentially signed his death warrant.

"He's not dead," Lucius explains, "but I would not count on him being able to face any beasts more ferocious than a flobberworm for the foreseeable future."

"Dolohov is dead, McNair is essentially out of the picture, and you've switched sides. You-Know-Who's elite are thinning out rapidly."

"All thanks to you, my dear."

"What? No. I didn't do anything," Hermione argues.

"You have given me the opportunity to defect from that madman, which led to your intelligence gathering, which led to the failed raid, and to McNair's downfall."

"No," she insists, standing up once more. "I can't accept the credit. This was your victory, Lucius."

He joins her, standing back up, almost as close to her as when he caught her in the hallway.

"Split the difference," he says, voice dropping low and once more sending shivers down her spine. "It was  _our_ victory."

Before she has time to analyze whether she is reading too much into things, she feels Lucius' thumb slowly grazing the back of her hand as his fingers grasp hers.

Hermione's lips part in surprise, not only from the sudden contact, but from the way her skin burns from the faintest of touches.

Meeting his eyes is almost too much.

Those strikingly blue depths, so often protected behind a wall of cool indifference, are unguarded and beckoning her to fall in. She can see his pain, his uncertainty, his regret, and his  _want_.

Watching as his gaze flickers towards her lips she all but stops breathing.

Hermione knows she should step back, put distance between them…at least that's what the very tiny voice at the back of her mind is telling her to do. However, she can't seem to make her body do anything other than watch as Lucius slowly leans closer towards her.

"Hermione! Are you out here?"

It's Narcissa calling from the house.

_Narcissa. My aunt._ His  _wife._

It's like a bucket of water is poured over her head.

Hermione startles and steps back, pulling her hand from his grasp.

There is a brief flash of regret in Lucius eyes before the veil drops back in place once more.

"I have more to tell you," he whispers.

"Hermione?" Narcissa calls again, still a way down the winding path from them.

"McNair is hiding out in his old home. It's just a shabby little place on the outskirts of London, I'm sure your Order members will be able to pull the address. It's not hidden by any enchantments."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks, voice just as quiet as his.

"Because McNair almost died at the Dark Lord's own hand, the only reason he didn't is because Bella came prancing in and distracted the Dark Lord. He probably intends to finish McNair off later in some big show about loyalty. McNair isn't stupid… okay, well not  _completely_  stupid, he undoubtedly knows this."

"Hermione!" Narcissa calls again, getting closer.

"Just a minute!" Hermione replies. "I'm coming!"

Lucius speaks even faster.

"Right now McNair is weak, injured, and terrified for his life. He also happens to have some very important information about the Dark Lord's plans to use magical beasts in his army. Now is the time to collect him and turn him. He will tell your Order everything."

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" she asks. "When you framed McNair?"

"I had rather hoped, but I couldn't guarantee the Dark Lord wouldn't murder him, so don't give me too much credit. Now go. Tell your Order. They should move swiftly."

Before Hermione has a chance to ask any more questions, Lucius slips away further into the garden.

When she turns around, Hermione sees Narcissa just emerging into the clearing.

"We really need to discuss tonight's display at dinner," Narcissa tells her sternly, resting her hands on her hips.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

"That was terribly rude of you!" Narcissa chastises, stopping just in front of Hermione. "I tried to explain how you were ill and you must still be affected, but I insist you apologize to Pansy at once."

"I am sorry for disappointing you, Narcissa. Truly, I am, but I will not apologize to that two-faced cow. Everything I said her was only a repeat of what she said to me while you were out of earshot."

The sun has disappeared behind the hedges, leaving the garden cast in an eerie evening glow, but even in the minimal lighting Hermione can see the disbelief on her aunt's face.

"You must have misheard, or be confused. Pansy wouldn't dare risk her alliance with our house. You  _will_ apologize! I know you don't understand how important these ties are, but I won't have you risking Draco's future over a schoolgirl squabble."

It takes most of her self-control to not throw Draco completely under the bus and expose his disinterest in Pansy flat out.

"How do you know Draco even wants anything to do with Pansy?" she asks instead.

Narcissa seems taken aback by the question.

"They've been arranged since birth," she says simply.

"How does that mean that Draco wants to spend his life with her? Have you asked him?"

"I don't need to," Narcissa replies. "I know my son, and I know what is best for him."

Hermione opens her mouth to retort, but doesn't get the chance to before Draco appears behind his mother, emerging from the garden path.

"If you truly think I want Pansy, then you don't know me at all," he says, shocking both Hermione and his mother.

Narcissa steps back and turns so she can see both her son and her niece.

"What are you talking about?" she demands.

"I don't want to marry Pansy, mother. She is a vile person who cares for no one but herself. Everything Hermione told you is true. It was Pansy who said those horrible things tonight."

Draco looks nervous to be speaking so openly, but also determined.

"She also implied that you were considering offers for my hand," Hermione adds, hoping to give credence to the idea that Pansy is untrustworthy.

Looking back and forth between them, Narcissa seems to be at a loss for words.

"I will not hear this," she insists at last. "I'm not sure what has gotten into the two of you, but it ends now. Hermione, you  _will_ apologize to Pansy. If you do not, you will not be attending the wedding of Bill Weasley and that foreign girl."

Hermione's mouth pops open in surprise.

Narcissa has been so kind and understanding since Hermione had arrived, this sudden shift to demanding aunt shocks her.

"As for you Draco, you will do as you are told. After Hermione apologizes, you will escort Pansy to the apparation point and promise her you will make up for this dreadful evening."

Hermione expects Draco to argue, but he is oddly silent, his eyes downcast as he nods.

"Good, now come with me back to the house at once."

Turning on her heel, Narcissa marches off down the path exiting the garden. Sullenly, both lost in their own thoughts, Hermione and Draco follow.

Narcissa leads the pair back to the study where Pansy is waiting, primly sipping a cup of tea.

Upon their entry Pansy sets aside her cup and stands.

Narcissa gives Hermione a very pointed look.

_Do it for the boys,_  she tells herself.  _They'll be furious if I'm not allowed to attend the wedding._

"Pansy," Hermione begins, noting the gleeful look in the other girl's eyes, "I wish to apologize to you for my abysmal behavior this evening. As my… aunt has already told you, I was recently ill. Combined with the stress of the sudden change in my life, I'm afraid I was not myself tonight. I do hope you can forgive me?"

Stomach rolling with hatred, Hermione allows Pansy to reach out and take her hand.

"Of course I forgive you! I can't imagine how strained you must be feeling. Hopefully you'll be more settled the next time we meet. I would very much like for us to be friends," Pansy insists sweetly.

"How lovely," Narcissa coos, as Hermione pulls her hand free. "Thank you for joining us tonight, Pansy dear. Draco will walk you out."

Hermione makes a break for her room, shaking with anger.

She's just made it when Narcissa catches up to her.

"Thank you," Narcissa says, as if Hermione had any real choice. "I almost believed you were sincere."

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione says, trying to get into her room and close the door.

Narcissa follows her.

"I'm feeling tired."

"I thought you might want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Hermione snaps. "I thought we were… that we were becoming…"

"Family?" Narcissa supplies.

"Yes. I thought that maybe, even though my life was torn to shreds, just  _maybe_ it would be okay because we were truly becoming family. Yet you would take the word of that… manipulative social climbing bimbo, over mine."

Hermione shakes her head, wondering how she could let herself believe things might work out.

"Is it true?" she asks, not really sure she wants to know. "Is it true that you are considering accepting a marriage offer for me?"

Narcissa drops her gaze to the floor, and Hermione's stomach flips.

"What do you wish for me to say?"

"That you aren't trying to sell me!" Hermione yells.

"It's not like that, my dear, and you know it. I have had several offers from promising young men. All of whom would be ideal matches."

"Except for the fact that I don't  _know_ them, and I certainly don't  _love_ any of them."

Sighing, Narcissa takes a step closer to Hermione, and reaches up to cup her cheek affectionately.

"You'll come to understand in time that I'm only making the decision I think is best for you."

"Are… are you saying you saying you've made a decision?"

Pulling her hand away, Narcissa gives her a sad smile.

"We'll talk more later. Please, get some rest."

Then, before Hermione can say another word, Narcissa sees herself out.

_No, no, no, this cannot be happening!_

Almost in a trance, Hermione walks to her bed and collapses on it.

_Surely she can't force me into an arranged marriage? She can try to set one up, but without my consent, nothing is binding… right?_

She can feel her panic rising, and the tears prickling her vision, but she resists breaking down. Refusing to let her emotions get the best of her before she finds more information.

As much as she'd like to rush down to the library immediately she doesn't wish to bump into Narcissa again tonight.

_I wish Ginny were here. I bet she knows all about pureblood arranged marriages._

Remembering the mirror, Hermione decides to try to contact Ginny.

_McNair!_

She gasps and sits up, scrambling for the mirror in her table drawer. All of the drama with Pansy and Narcissa had driven Lucius' tip from her mind.

"Harry? Ron?" she asks, speaking into the mirror.

After a moment Harry's face appears.

"Hermione! How are you?"

"I'm okay, but I have important news for the Order."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into his messy hair.

"Another tip already? Hold on, Arthur's right here."

Hermione waits, and a few seconds later Arthur's face joins Harry's in the mirror.

"Hermione?" Arthur questions, perplexed. "What a splendid piece of magic," he says appreciatively, scanning the mirror.

"I have news for the order," she insists, drawing his focus back to her.

"Yes?" he asks, completely intent on her.

"The Dark Lord believes Walden McNair was the one to leak information about the Dalyworth raid. He punished McNair severely, almost killing him. The Dark Lord almost certainly  _intends_  to kill him, to make an example of him. McNair knows this. He is hiding out in his childhood home, in need of medical attention and protection," Hermione explains. "If you go to him and offer him leniency, he  _will_  most certainly switch sides."

"Why would we want him to?" Harry sneers. "He tried to murder Buckbeak!"

"Yes, but he has important information about magical creatures the Dark Lord intends to use in his army. His help could seriously impact the tide of the war."

"Where are you getting this information, Hermione?" Arthur asks.

"I… I'm sorry, I can't tell you. Not yet. Please, you have to trust me. Get to McNair before they do."

Arthur nods his head.

"I'll inform the others and we'll get a team out right away."

"Thank you," she tells him, relieved.

Arthur disappears, leaving just Hermione and Harry.

"You're not doing anything stupid to get this info are you? Stupid ideas are my territory," he tells her.

Hermione laughs.

"No, Harry, I promise. I'm being careful."

"How are things going?"

She swallows thickly, not wishing to lie, but moreso not wishing to worry him.

"As good as to be expected. Hey, Harry? Is Ginny around? I was hoping to speak with her."

"Um, yeah, just a mo'. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear from you."

A few minutes later, Hermione bids Harry farewell, and greets Ginny.

"Why have I not seen this before now?" Ginny asks, talking about the mirror.

"It's really only intended for emergencies."

"So what's the emergency?"

Hermione watches as Ginny retreats to her room and closes the door.

Shrugging, Hermione chews the edge of her thumbnail.

"I just had some questions I thought you could answer. Nothing, um, super important."

Ginny arches an eyebrow and gives her a look that clearly isn't buying into Hermione's nonchalance.

"What do you need?"

"I was just wondering if you could tell me what you know about, um, arranged marriages in Pureblood society?"

The redhead's eyes go large, but she resists from launching into the thousand questions that are clearly plaguing her now.

"Okay… well, they aren't as common any more, but they do still happen. Mostly among the sacred twenty-eight, but other wealthy lines also participate. Most matches are made when the couple are still babies. Did you know that Neville's grandmother tried to match us after I was born?"

"Really? No, I had no idea."

"Mum turned her down, thankfully," Ginny says. "Not that there is anything wrong with Neville, but I'm glad to make my own choice."

"Well, even if she had agreed, surely you could have refused."

"No, not really," Ginny explains. "If your guardian agrees to a match and takes the oath when you are still underage, there is no way out of it."

Hermione's heart races.

"What happens if you still refuse?" she asks.

"You lose your magic. Most contracts aren't permanent," Ginny amends. "Most have specific requirements attached to them. From what I understand some are very stringent, but the most common contract requires you be married for at least a year and produce a male heir before separation is allowed, or you must be married for five years with no children before separation is allowed."

"That's absolutely barbaric," Hermione mutters, feeling nauseas.

"It's actually considered quite modern," Ginny shrugs. "In the old days marriage contracts had horrible requirements, mainly just for the women. There was no separation allowed without loss of magic, wives were expected to submit whenever their husband demanded, and if they were unfaithful they would face horrible pain."

Hermione barely hears her.

_Loss of magic, or submit to a stranger?_

"Hermione?" Ginny asks, pulling her attention back.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you asking about this? Are the Malfoys trying to bind you in a marriage contract? If they are we need to let the Order know so they can get you out of there!"

_If I leave, we lose Lucius, and his information is proving quite useful._

_If I don't leave, I could be giving away my right to find my own love and happiness._

_How many lives could I risk for my own happiness?_

"No, no, don't worry about me," Hermione says, waving Ginny off. "I was just curious. Draco was talking about him and Pansy, and I just wondered how these things worked."

Ginny still looks unsure.

"I swear, Ginny. I'm fine. You know I can't pass an opportunity to learn something new! I've been finding so many subjects I am woefully ignorant on since coming here, and I just want to remedy that as much as possible."

With a small laugh, Ginny shakes her head.

"It is still summer break you know. Go relax!"

"I'll try. Hey, I should go. I'm pretty tired. I'll talk to you soon though, yeah? Only two weeks til the wedding!"

Wishing her goodnight, Hermione tucks the mirror away once more in her bedside table and replaces the enchantments on the drawer.

Only then does she allow herself to feel the sadness threatening to overcome her.

_If Lucius' information can save even one more life, then surely it is more important than who I marry._

She tries to tell herself that she is doing the right thing by not looking for an escape, but it does little to comfort her.

She lies in bed, staring up at the canopy until weariness claims her just before dawn.

It's almost lunchtime when she finally wakes with her stomach grumbling uncomfortably. She refuses to give in and go down for lunch, however, not yet ready to face Narcissa.

A short while later there is a knock on her door.

She ignores it.

The door opens anyway and Hermione looks over to see Draco coming in.

He comes over and sits at the foot of her bed, not saying anything for a while.

"Mother has asked me to check on you," he finally says. "You missed both breakfast and lunch."

"Tell her I'm not feeling well."

"She said you'd say that," he sighs. "She said to tell you to get dressed, and come downstairs. She wishes to speak to us together."

Hermione groans.

"Sorry I got you in trouble," she tells him.

Draco laughs.

"I've been in worse. Besides, this isn't on you. I should have tried to talk to her ages ago, before it was too late."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asks, sitting up.

"Mother has… changed. Ever since His return. She has become less like herself, more jumpy, timid even. I think you were right when you said planning parties and weddings were coping mechanisms for her, and last night was too much for her to handle."

"So, what do we do?"

"Hell if I know," Draco shrugs. "Right now I say we just go along with her and hope she'll come back to herself. I wish…"

"What?"

"I wish father were here. He would know how to help her. I mean, I know they didn't marry for love, but they've always been partners. I think she's struggling without him."

_How does Draco not know that Lucius is still living here?_

Hermione throws her covers aside and crawls over to sit next to Draco, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

After a moment, his stiff posture dissipates and he leans his head on her shoulder.

"So," he asks, and Hermione prepares herself for some inappropriate comment, "is this what it's like to have a sister?"

He catches her off guard and Hermione feels herself soften.

"I've never had a sibling, but I suspect so."

After another moment of silence and comfort, Draco excuses himself so Hermione can get dressed.

There's a feeling of warmth in her chest as she watches him go, and Hermione is slightly shocked to discover that she recognizes the feeling as the same one she gets around Harry.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, her two surrogate brothers.

_Who would have ever imagined?_

After dressing, Hermione gathers her courage to face whatever Narcissa has waiting for her.

Draco and Narcissa are both in the study, the latter insisting Hermione take a seat beside Draco.

Narcissa paces back and forth in front of them.

"I have spent a great deal of time considering what happened last night," she tells them, halting in her tracks, "and a great deal of time considering what happened to my sister, Lisette. I don't want such tragedy to befall either of you because you feel as trapped as she did."

Hermione perks up at the mention of her biological mother, and Draco sits stiffly waiting to hear more.

"I don't want either of you to feel as if you do not have a choice, so… I am giving you a choice. Several, actually," she amends. "Draco, this morning I owled the Parkinsons to let them know our contract no longer stands. You do not have to marry Pansy, unless you so choose."

Draco's mouth pops open in disbelief, and Hermione grasps his arm excitedly.

"You do need to make a suitable match, however, and this goes for you as well, Hermione."

Hermione stiffens.

"I have chosen several appropriate candidates for both of you, but I shall allow you to have the final say. You each have until the day before your seventeenth birthday to make your decision, otherwise I will decide for you."

Hermione looks over at Draco, expecting him to be as outraged as she is, but instead she finds him beaming. He stands up and wraps Narcissa in a tight hug.

"Thank you, mother."

Even though she doesn't want to admit it, Hermione does realize that this must feel like a blessing to Draco, who up until five minutes ago was certain he'd have to spend his life with Pansy.

"Do you agree to my terms, Hermione?" Narcissa asks.

"I—"

_Think of the war effort._

"Yes, I do."

Smiling brightly, Narcissa pulls Hermione off of the couch and into a hug.

When she pulls away, Narcissa starts rambling about all the things she needs to do, people to owl, dinners to plan with potential suitors, etc.

She's still talking to herself as she walks from the room, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Of course… you?"

"I'm stunned to be honest, I can't believe the opportunity she's giving us."

Hermione gives him a tight smile, and excuses herself as soon as possible.

No longer hungry, she returns to her room with the vague idea of calling Ron to have that talk about their relationship he wanted to have a few days ago.

_He_ is _pureblood, maybe Narcissa would approve?_

Once again she pulls the mirror from her bedside table, calling the boy's names.

Harry shimmers into view.

"I was going to call you this evening," he says.

"You were?"

"I figured you'd want to know how things went with McNair."

She had completely forgotten.

"How  _did_ it go?"

"They got to him before Voldemort, and he seemed ready to talk. As usual they won't tell me everything, but from what I  _have_ been told, the things McNair knows are really going to help us. I don't know how you got your information, but Hermione, you have probably saved hundreds of lives."

And just like that she knows without a doubt that she can't run, or fight, to be free of this family.

She will stay and do whatever necessary.

_For the greater good._

 

__

 

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, I know it has been a couple months since my last update, but I just wanted to say I am sticking with this story. The next chapter is already almost complete, so stay tuned! Thanks for sticking with me, and as always reviews are much appreciated! 


	12. Chapter Twelve

That night, as she's lying in bed, pretending that if she's still enough surely sleep will carry her off, Hermione hears someone quietly knocking on her door.

A glance at the clock reveals it is about three in the morning.

Climbing out of bed, Hermione softly pads over to the door, not in the least bit surprised to find Lucius standing there when she opens it.

Without saying a word she steps aside to let him enter, warding the door after she closes it.

He takes a seat by the window, sighing wearily, and Hermione joins him.

"Did your people make it to McNair, or is he truly on the run?" he asks, tired.

"They have him," she replies. "Were you sent out to retrieve him?"

"Yes, and the Dark Lord was not happy when I failed."

"Did he hurt you?" Hermione asks, worried.

She rakes her eyes over him looking for signs of damage.

"Nothing more than I could handle," Lucius reassures her, "but thank you for your concern. Did McNair switch sides?"

"It appears so. I was told the information he shared will save hundreds of lives."

Lucius nods appreciatively.

"A few more tips like that and perhaps you'll speak to the Order for me."

They sit silently, and Hermione finds herself enjoying the calmness that seems to settle between them.

There are no demands being made of her, no delving questions, and she is very thankful.

_Draco and I have become friends, and Lucius Malfoy calms my nerves. What has happened to the world?_

"Why doesn't Draco know you're still living in the manor?" she asks.

"Was he speaking about me? With you?" Lucius replies, surprised.

"Briefly. We were discussing Narcissa. He's worried about her, and he wished you were here for her."

Lucius snorts.

"I have tried to be, but my wife grows more distant by the day."

Not sure she wants to discuss Lucius and Narcissa's marriage problems, Hermione steers the topic away.

"I don't think Draco is worried anymore," she admits. "Not after the  _great gift_  Narcissa bestowed on us today."

"What gift?"

"The decision about our future spouses?"

Even if they have grown apart, Hermione can't believe that Narcissa wouldn't discuss Draco's future with Lucius.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he insists.

"Oh, um, nevermind."

She doesn't feel like it's her place to tell him, however Lucius won't be dissuaded that easily.

"I bring  _you_  information, it's time you return the favor."

Hermione chews her bottom lip.

"Fine, but you can't  _do_  anything with what I tell you. How would you explain your knowledge to Narcissa? You'd have to admit you sought me out," Hermione reminds him.

"Yes, yes, I'll keep my lips sealed."

"You already know about my… outburst at dinner. Afterwards things did not go well," she says with a heavy sigh.

Hermione continues on to tell Lucius about Narcissa's anger, her threat to not let Hermione attend the wedding if she didn't apologize, and how Draco finally admitted his lack of interest in Pansy.

"I must admit I'm proud of him," Lucius tells her. "I would never have had the courage to question my parents at his age."

"Well, Narcissa didn't take it well," Hermione continues, "though she seemed to have a change of heart today."

She tells him of Narcissa breaking the contract with the Parkinsons, and how she's decided to allow Draco and Hermione to pick their own future spouses so long as it is from  _her_  list of suitors and the decision is made before their seventeenth birthday.

"That is preposterous," Lucius scoffs, face twisted into sneer.

Not sure which part he's referring to, Hermione can't help but ask.

"Are you worried about Draco not choosing the right person?"

"No, of course not. Draco will be fine, he has until June to make his decision. But what about you? Your birthday is under two months away."

To say she's shocked by Lucius' concern for her would be an understatement, and it takes her several attempts to find her voice.

"Isn't it my duty, though?" she asks, trying and failing to refrain from using sarcasm. "By your philosophy, shouldn't I do as my family bids in order to make the best connections and strengthen my line?"

Lucius scowls, deliberating her point.

"In most cases, yes... but as I've said before, you are new to our ways, and shouldn't be held accountable to them until you have had proper time to adjust. To ask you to make this sort of decision is unseemly."

Hermione feels herself getting choked up, and she tries to fight off the tears threatening to fall. She has already cried in front of Lucius Malfoy more than she ever wanted to.

"You know," she squeaks out, "if you weren't such a bigot, you'd actually be a decent person."

He shoots her a glare, but there's no real heat behind it, and she can see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"You never did answer my question," she reminds him. "About why Draco doesn't know you're here?"

He half shrugs.

"Figured it would be best for him."

"Best for him to have no idea where his father is, or if he is okay?"

"It's certainly safer. Look what being my son has gotten him so far? He was sent on a suicide mission for my failures! I am a danger to anyone I am around."

Dropping his head in defeat, Lucius lets out a weary sigh, and Hermione can't help but reach out and place a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Even me?" she asks.

Slowly, Lucius lifts his head to look at her, leaning towards her in a way that makes her heart race.

He reaches his hand up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her jawline.

"Oh, my dear, I am most certainly a danger to you," he says quietly, his voice silky smooth.

Unconsciously, Hermione's tongue darts out to wet her lips, the action not unnoticed by the man so very, very close to her.

She can hear him draw in a shaky breath before he closes the distance and plants a light kiss on her cheek.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Lucius gives her one final, wistful, look before getting up and leaving her a trembling mess, alone in her room.

Hermione spends the rest of the night trying to figure out how such a little peck on the cheek could leave her so affected, especially considering it came from one of her sworn enemies.

_Okay, so he's not really my enemy any more, but that doesn't change our history, or the things he's done._

_The things he's trying to undo._

She smiles softly, and then immediately shakes her head and chastises herself.

Though she would never admit it, lest the boys find out and tease her mercilessly, Hermione has a soft spot for romance novels. The damsel in distress, the handsome anti-hero searching for redemption, and so on... all the silly things that annoy her in real life come together on the page as one of her favorite guilty pleasures.

_Life is NOT a romance novel_ , she reminds herself.  _You are not some helpless damsel in need of saving, and Lucius is not some tragic hero._

She tries to convince herself that those butterflies in her stomach are mistaken and confused.

_I mean, if anything, I am the one saving him by helping him switch sides._

The sudden image of Lucius in a tower with his silver hair hanging out the window like Rapunzel causes Hermione to burst into a fit of giggles, and she has to bury her face in her pillow until it passes.

Afterwards she tries to look at her situation objectively: she has just had a huge emotional upheaval, she's been fairly secluded in the manor, she and Lucius seem to be united against a very powerful enemy, and surprisingly he has been a very willing listener to all of her problems.

_When you look at it that way, I'm surprised I haven't developed some sort of attraction to Draco,_  Hermione tells herself.

By the time dawn starts to stream through her bedroom window, Hermione finally admits to herself the thing she's been hiding from for a while.

She has a crush on Lucius Malfoy.

It's absolutely absurd, she knows, but at this point also undeniable.

"Well," she tells herself firmly as she dresses for the day, "it's just something you're going to have to get over."

_There are far more pressing issues to deal with than a schoolgirl fascination with strong arms and piercing eyes._

Shaking her head at her own traitorous thoughts, Hermione makes a mental checklist of all the reasons her crush is ridiculous.

  1. _He is legally my uncle._
  2. _He is MARRIED._
  3. _There is a war waging and my partnership with Lucius can help our side win._
  4. _He's probably not interested in me anyway. I mean come on. I'm not poised and beautiful like Narcissa, and we don't even hold the same core beliefs._



When she arrives downstairs for breakfast, Narcissa reminds her of another reason her crush is pointless.

"We are having a special get together this evening," Narcissa says brightly. "Tonight we'll be joined by a few of your possible matches!"

Hermione looks over to Draco and is pleased to see he seems as apprehensive as she feels.

"That's rather sudden," he says. "How did you manage to pull something together so quickly."

"You two are both astounding catches. If I call, they will come," she says simply.

"Who will be attending?" Hermione asks.

She pushes eggs around her plate absentmindedly, all appetite she may have had is now gone.

"Damia Shafiq and Elizabeth Fawley, both lovely girls. They are from Beuxbatons and Durmstrang respectively," Narcissa counts off. "Then we have Marcus Flint, whom you know, and Rolf Scamander. I must admit I don't know much about Mr. Scamander other than the fact he spent a large portion of his life in America, and he comes from an excellent family."

Hermione barely hears a word that comes out of Narcissa's mouth past the name  _Marcus Flint._

"Am I to assume that Marcus is coming to court Draco?" Hermione asks dryly. "Because he certainly doesn't have a chance with me."

Draco who had been taking a heaping bite of eggs, chokes on them and starts coughing.

"Marcus Flint is a rude, ignorant, bully," she continues.

"Hermione!" Narcissa chides. "I would expect you of all people to be more open minded. Marcus is very different than he used to be. After graduating Hogwarts—"

"Where he had to repeat his last year," Hermione interrupts.

"—his father grew very ill and passed away, leaving Marcus to run their family business and care for his mother."

Despite the urge to argue, Hermione holds her tongue.

After breakfast Hermione and Draco retreat to the garden to practice dueling, at least that is their intention. Instead they spend a long time discussing their mystery suitors.

They sit on the patio, soaking up the summer sun.

"I only have just over a month to choose," she complains, "how am I to do that if all my options are along the lines of Marcus Flint."

"Just wait til you've met everyone, and pick the hottest one," Draco suggests.

She rolls her eyes.

"Revolutionary," she scoffs.

"Who did you picture as your future husband?" he asks. "Back when you had a real choice?"

Hermione shrugs.

"I never really thought about it. I've never been interested in marriage. I always planned to worry about career first, possibly a relationship, then whatever comes after."

"Oh come on," he snorts. "Okay, then what about dating? Or even snogging? What's your type?"

_Silvery blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and a razor wit._

She smiles softly.

"See!" Draco laughs, pointing at her. "You were thinking about  _someone_."

"No one available to me," she admits. "What about you? What's your type?"

"You mean aside from know-it-alls?"

Hermione picks up a pebble and throws it at Draco.

"Um, I guess I never really thought about it either. I never figured I would get to have a choice. Maybe someone… kind," he says quietly.

"You never cease to surprise me."

"I may, on occasion, come off as an arse, but that doesn't mean I want to marry one."

"I'm sure you'll choose someone lovely, inside and out," she tells him with a soft smile.

"And I'm sure you'll have plenty of suitors to choose from that will meet your meticulous standards."

 

As the day progresses Hermione feels more and more sick to her stomach. So much so that by the time Kinny is helping her prepare to meet their dinner guests, Hermione wonders if she might see Marcus Flint and be sick all over his feet.

_Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea. I bet he'd be less inclined to marry me then._

Kinny chooses a black dress for her with white flowered straps and Hermione can't help but feel like a prized sow sent to auction.

_This is absurd. Maybe if I talk to Narcissa, she'll call this whole thing off. She doesn't really expect me to marry so young, does she?_

Heart aching, she wonders if she'll be allowed to further her education past her Hogwarts graduation.

_I could always break the contract and return to the muggle world without my magic. I could attend Uni and return to my adoptive parents._

She considers the idea of never feeling the rush of magic as she casts a spell, the breathless, exhilarating  _zing_  as she holds her wand.

_I could never forfeit my magic._

Knowing that at the moment she has no other choice, she waits for Draco to escort her downstairs.

Draco looks as nauseous as she feels when he arrives, and they head down together into a larger crowd than Hermione expected. She hadn't anticipated the parents attending as well, though she supposes it does make sense.

Narcissa's face splits into a glorious smile as her son and niece enter, and she is quick to introduce everyone.

Damia Shafiq is a gorgeous olive-skinned girl with wavy dark hair and even darker eyes, beside her Elizabeth Fawley, with her pale skin and blonde hair, looks decidedly washed out. Both girls are with their eager looking parents, already sizing Draco up.

Marcus Flint is broader than Hermione remembers and looks to have had his teeth straightened, though he appears to be fighting a scowl. With him is his mother who, though sickly, looks every bit the domineering woman Hermione would have expected to leash Marcus on the world.

Rolf Scamander is the only one in attendance without a guardian, instead standing off to the side on his own.

Hermione studies him surreptitiously through her lashes as she is seated between Rolf and Marcus at the dinner table.

Rolf has dark, messy hair and a cute smattering of freckles across his face. He looks very much like the picture Hermione had once seen of his grandfather, Newt, when he was younger.

"Thank you for coming," Narcissa croons from the head of the table.

The parents fall all over themselves thanking her for the opportunity and for her generosity.

Glancing over at Draco, Hermione catches his eye-roll and knows she's not the only one who finds them all absurd.

"So, turns out you're not a mudblood?" Marcus asks Hermione.

"No, I am not, as previously believed, a  _muggleborn,_ " she replies, fighting not to grit her teeth.

"Well good for you," he tells her attempting what she thinks is supposed to be a winning smile.

"Hmm," she replies disinterestedly, reaching for her glass of water.

Rolf is looking all around the room, studying everything.

"So, Rolf," Hermione begins, getting his attention, "you're the grandson of Newt Scamander, correct?"

Rolf looks at her briefly and nods, before looking everywhere else but her.

_Well this evening just gets better and better._

"Do you enjoy Magizoology as well?" she tries again.

"Oh, yes, quite a bit. I do spend most of my time traveling, you see, trying to find new species and such."

_Aaaaaannd back to ignoring me._

Despite her lack of appetite, Hermione makes herself appear very interested in her dinner to avoid more than one or two word conversations with Marcus.

By the end of the meal she thinks he may have lost interest, at least it would appear so the way he can't stop staring at Elizabeth Fawley.

For her part, Miss Fawley seems just as interested.

_It seems like she's just ready to make a match, no matter with whom._

Draco is trying to be attentive to both of his guests, but Hermione can tell he is much more intrigued by Damia.

"It's a lovely evening," Narcissa insists. "Shall we move out to the garden patio for drinks and dessert?"

As they are filing out of the dining room Kinny appears with a quiet  _-pop-_  halting everyone.

"S-sorry to interrupt," the elf squeaks, glancing around nervously. "There is- being someone here requesting to see Master Scamander. They is saying it's urgent."

Rolf seems rather surprised by the turn of events, and excuses himself to follow Kinny, promising he'll join them in the garden momentarily.

Marcus offers his arm stiffly to Hermione, and after a prodding look from Narcissa she accepts it and lets him escort her.

On the patio Narcissa takes the lead on entertaining the parents, while the younger witches and wizards gather to the side, on their own.

"You are Hermione Granger, no?" Damia asks, a slight French accent lilting her words.

"Yes," Hermione tells her, "though it is Hermione Black now."

"I have heard about you. You are a very talented witch, they say, top of your class."

Hermione blushes slightly, though she's pleased that her name has somehow made its way to Beauxbatons.

"I did receive top marks last year, yes," she replies.

"Of course, it makes much more sense now that we know of your true heritage. I found it highly unlikely someone of such low blood would rank so highly," Damia continues, and Elizabeth nods along with her.

All friendliness Hermione had been feeling vanishes.

The look on her face must be dangerous, because Draco quickly intervenes and asks the girls if they have ever seen some extremely exotic plant and leads them away.

"She is right," Marcus grunts. "Makes more sense now, all your overachieving."

"If grades are truly equivalent to blood, why did you have to stay back a year? I know many muggleborns who can outperform you. Tell me, Marcus, does that say more about them or about the true status of your blood?"

It takes him a moment to comprehend her insult, but when he does his face goes beet red.

He opens his mouth to offer an angry retort but is interrupted by Rolf's return.

"So sorry, everyone," Rolf says, walking out onto the patio. "Completely unavoidable."

Before anyone can say anything, he's joined by another young man.

"This is my... associate, Lucas Bradbury. He came to inform me I have an emergency I must attend. Perhaps Mr. Bradbury can sit in for me the rest of the evening?" Rolf inquires.

Narcissa pierces her lips, clearly displeased.

"Bradbury?" She questions, approaching them. "I'm not familiar with the name."

Lucas bows Narcissa, and smiles slyly as he rises.

"I wouldn't expect so, Lady Malfoy," Lucas replies, with a thick American accent. "Perhaps you are familiar with my mother's maiden name, Perkins?"

"The Warwickshire Perkins?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That is where my family originally hails from, though several generations ago we did branch off to the Americas and settle in Salem."

Narcissa seems impressed.

"We would be delighted for you to join us, Mr. Bradbury."

Lucas smiles again and nods his thanks.

Rolf bids everyone farewell, barely pausing to look in Hermione's direction, and before she knows it he's gone.

Narcissa looks ready to further question the new guest, but the Fawleys draw her attention away by asking about some upcoming charity ball.

Just as Marcus is about ready to start in on his angry tirade for Hermione's earlier comment, Lucas sidles up to join them.

"Good evening," he greets smoothly. "What are we discussing over here?"

"Our school marks," Hermione tells him as Marcus grows even more red in the face. "How did you fare in school, Mr. Bradbury?"

Lucas looks to be a few years older than herself.

_He's not so bad to look at either._

With his tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, and twinkling eyes, Hermione suspects he has eager suitors.

"I was near the top of my class the year I graduated," he tells them.

"You're from America, did you attend Ilvermorny?" Hermione asks. "I've always been curious about that school."

"Yes, I did. It's a truly wonderful institute, though, from what I hear Hogwarts is something special as well."

Marcus mumbles something about needing a drink and stalks off leaving the two alone.

"I'm Hermione, by the way," she introduces, offering her hand.

Instead of shaking it as she intended, Lucas raises her hand to his lips and kisses it instead.

"It's a pleasure," he replies, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk.

Something about that smirk and the mischief in his eyes gives her the feeling she's met him before.

She realizes she's staring and clears her throat.

"Your friend seemed like he couldn't get out of here fast enough," she notes.

"Rolf... is a peculiar one. He's not interested in being tied down. I think he only came out of familial obligation."

"I don't think there is anything peculiar about not wanting to be tied down."

"I only say that because there must be something off about someone who would willing leave the presence of such a beauty."

Hermione can't help but snort at his comment.

"Do cheesy pick-up lines like that actually work for you?" she asks.

"I'm sorry? Oh, you thought I meant you. Clearly I was referring to Mr. Flint."

He almost manages to completely hide his smile, but fails at the shock on Hermione's face.

She bursts in to laughter, unaware of the attention they're drawing.

"Sullen oafs are your type then?" she asks, still laughing.

"Are they yours?" Lucas asks.

"Of course not."

The pair sits down next to each other on one of the patio lounges.

"I was under the impression this was a matchmaking party? Shouldn't there be guests here that are your type?"

"You're quite forward," Hermione notes.

"Forgive me. It's an American trait I suppose. Perhaps a less personal subject?"

Lucas and Hermione slip easily into talk about school, discussing their favorite and least favorite classes.

Surprisingly, she finds they both share a love for Transfiguration, and disdain for Divination.

They start discussing a recently published article about modern transfiguration and she's pleased to find how well he seems to grasp the complex ideas mentioned.

She could never talk to Harry or Ron about something like this. All they ever talk about is quidditch.

_And war..._

Hermione tells the story about how she marched out of Divination in the middle of class, and as Lucas laughs she has another flash of familiarity.

"Do you have family that attends Hogwarts?" she asks.

"No, why?"

"I just... feel like we've met before."

Lucas cocks his head to the side.

"Sometimes souls recognize their other half," he tells her, biting back a smile.

"That's even worse than the first line you gave me," she says, laughing.

"Alright, I admit that one was a bit much."

Lucas looks around the garden, and following his lead Hermione sees that everyone appears to be starting their farewells.

"It looks like our time is up," he sighs.

"I suppose it is."

Lucas stands and offers her a hand. She accepts and lets him help her to her feet, all the time studying him.

He's like a puzzle she can't figure out.

"Are you—?" she pauses, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"Am I what?" he prompts.

"Are you staying in the area? This side of the pond I mean?"

"I have a compelling reason to," he says.

"Maybe I'll see you again."

Hermione is attempting to sound casual, but she is pretty sure she misses the mark.

"I would enjoy that very much, Hermione," Lucas insists.

He leans in and she sees a flash of blue just before her presses a kiss to her cheek.

Her hand flies up to touch her cheek and she looks at him in shock as realization and confusion set in.

Lucas shoots her a wink before walking away to make his farewells.

After all the guests are gone and Narcissa retires, crowing about the success of the evening, Draco walks up and bumps Hermione with his shoulder.

"You and Bradbury seemed to hit it off pretty well," he says. "Maybe you do have a type."

"Maybe I do," she agrees, still dazed.

 

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the lovely feedback! Reviews are always appreciated <3


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Lucas Bradbury is Lucius Malfoy in disguise.

Hermione is  _sure_  of it... kind of.

_I mean, it's possible, right?_

She doesn't have much to back up her claim other than the flash of blue she swears she saw in his eyes, the way he wears that same smug smirk, and the way her skin tingled after his lips met her cheek.

She doesn't get the chance to ask Lucius, however, because she doesn't see him at all in the week that follows.

At night she tries to wait up and see if he'll appear, but she never manages to keep her eyes open for long. Narcissa keeps Draco and Hermione very busy.

Between luncheons, teas, and evening gatherings the pair are hardly even managing their dueling practices.

"At this point I'd almost resign myself to a life of Pansy if only I were allowed to take a nap," Draco complains one afternoon to Hermione's amusement.

"Is one nap really worth a lifetime of nagging and one-upping?"

Draco frowns distastefully.

"That's what I thought," she laughs.

As the days drag on, Hermione starts to wonder if perhaps she is wrong about Lucas being Lucius.

_Why would Lucius bother pretending to be some young American to crash his own wife's party? Surely if he had, he would have been much more interested in in eyeing up Draco's possible brides, not chatting with with me._

She wonders if she is overreacting about the kiss on her cheek.

_Maybe I'm just touch starved and any peck will set off fireworks. Or, maybe I just need a good snog._

She chides herself for acting like such a silly teenager when there are much more important things going on.

Hermione keeps intending to have a frank discussion with Narcissa to try to dissuade her from this marriage plan. She's not sure it will work, but hopes that the small bond she's built with her aunt will somehow be enough to talk sense into the woman.

Narcissa is not making it easy, however, as she is always rushing off to plan this party, or shop for that dinner.

One morning as breakfast is ending, Hermione catches a glimpse of the Daily Prophet on the table. The front cover has the Dark Mark displayed prominently and her heart races as she grabs the paper, scanning to find names of those attacked.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she reads the house pictured smoldering under the mark was empty at the time.

Hermione drops the paper back on the table.

Narcissa glances at it briefly but quickly looks away, and for some reason this is a tipping point for Hermione.

"Just because you turn your head and only worry about planning parties doesn't mean everything else disappears," Hermione snaps. "The war doesn't cease to exist when Narcissa Malfoy turns a blind eye. There are still people running, hiding, fighting, and dying. You don't get to pretend it's not happening."

Narcissa's jaw drops, but her face quickly shifts from shocked to fierce.

"As if I could! After all this war has done to my family? My life has been torn apart! Our name has been dragged through the mud. The family business is struggling. My  _son_  was almost marked!"

"What did you expect when you followed a lunatic?" Hermione counters.

"I followed my family," Narcissa insists. "I followed my  _husband._ "

"You didn't have to."

"As you will learn soon enough, yes I did. It has always been my duty to support my husband."

""At least he—" she sputters, "at least have the common decency to take credit for your own choices. Don't pretend you didn't buy into the hateful, awful things Voldemort spews."

She had almost slipped up. Hermione had been about to defend Lucius, saying at least he was working to right his mistakes.

Narcissa's face goes white when Hermione says "Voldemort", and she looks around wildly as if speaking the name will summon him.

"We are done speaking of this!" Narcissa orders.

"I know the Black line is known for many things, but I never knew them to be cowards," Hermione spits.

"Kinny! Please escort Hermione to her room until it is time for dinner. She clearly needs to rest. Manners like that would most definitely not be allowed to attend a friend's wedding."

Just like that, the fight goes out of Hermione. She desperately wants to see her friends, but she knows she'll only be allowed to go if she plays along nicely.

Without another word she allows Kinny to take her back to her bedroom.

_So much for having a friendly discussion and seeing if Narcissa will release me from the obligation to marry._

Quickly growing bored all by herself, Hermione decides to take this ordered downtime as a gift, and lays down to nap.

She falls into a sleep so deep that hours later she doesn't feel the dip of her mattress as she's joined in bed.

"Ptssst... hey..."

Hermione startles awake, and jumps when she finds herself face to face with Draco.

"What are you doing?" she demands, sitting up.

"I just came by to ask how you managed to get time off for a nap? Really not fair."

"I'm in trouble," she admits, rolling her eyes.

"Well, how'd you get in trouble? Maybe I can do the same. I'm dead tired," he says, yawning for added effect.

"I've had a row with your mum. About the war."

Draco frowns.

"Yeah, I think I'll avoid that topic, thanks."

Hermione flops back down on the bed.

"I do have some good news," he says.

She looks over at him, her skepticism written on her face.

"Marcus Flint won't be coming tonight. Apparently he and Miss Fawley have entered into a contract."

"Already? That seems quite sudden?"

"Are you displeased? Harboring some flame for Flint you didn't want to let on?"

"No," she scoffs. "Does that mean I don't have to be paraded in front of a potential buyer tonight?"

Draco laughs.

"Sorry, no. You're still on auction. However, I've just learned that taking Flint's place tonight will be Mr. Lucas Bradley. That American you were talking up last week."

Her jaw drops and she perks back up.

"I knew you were into him," Draco teases, triumphant.

"I wasn't  _talking him up_. He was just... nice to talk with. He's rather bright."

"Mmhmm," he replies disbelievingly. "Anyway, thought I'd let you know. In case you wanted to pull out something extra cleavagey."

Draco rolls off the bed as Hermione tries to hit him with her pillow.

After a bit more teasing, Draco leaves Hermione on her own once more.

She finds she's both excited and nervous about seeing Lucas again; excited to find out if her theory is correct and Lucas is indeed Lucius Malfoy in disguise, nervous because she has no idea how to test her theory.

_It's not like I can just ask, "are you actually Lucius Malfoy? I was only wondering because I felt this connection to you and thought I saw your eyes change color."_

If it wasn't Lucius, Lucas would think she's crazy, and she did rather enjoy spending time with him. Not to mention she'd rather face down the Dark Lord alone than admit to Lucius Bloody Malfoy that she's attracted to him.

By the time Kinny comes to release her from her room and invite her downstairs, Hermione is a jittery bundle of nerves.

She and Draco are left alone in the sitting room, waiting for Narcissa to return with their guests for the evening.

Draco keeps elbowing Hermione and waggling his eyebrows at her.

She steadfastly ignores him.

Narcissa returns momentarily, Lucas Bradbury and Amelia Owlbrook.

This is Draco's third evening with Amelia. She's a pretty girl, petite with honey colored curls and soft features. Despite not being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Owlbrooks are known worldwide among the wizarding community for their Apothecary chain. "Owlbrook Elixirs".

Amelia is pureblooded and a wealthy heiress, which is all Narcissa needed to know.

As was her plan, Narcissa bids them all a fine evening and excuses herself under the impression of having urgent business to attend.

She really just wants to give them a bit of privacy, since no other parents are in attendance.

"So we meet again," Lucas says, smoothly grasping Hermione's hand to kiss it.

"So we do," Hermione replies, unable to resist returning his charming smile. "You seem to have a habit of turning up quite suddenly."

"Maybe I just know when you need me most."

"I see your pick-up lines haven't improved," she notes.

"Oh come on, that was a good one."

"Shall we?" Draco asks, gesturing towards the dining room.

Dinner ends up being much more enjoyable than Hermione had anticipated at the start of the day.

Rather than quidditch rankings and the halfhearted grunting expected from Marcus, Hermione, Draco, Amelia, and Lucas have an in depth discussion about their studies.

Hermione is shocked when Draco starts talking about some experimental new potions theory that could help heal nerve damage in curse victims.

He must catch the surprise on her face.

"Don't look so shocked, cousin," Draco chuckles. "Or have you forgotten that I'm on your tail for top grades?"

"I know you're smart, Draco," Hermione counters. "I just never expected you to pick up a potion's journal over your summer break."

"What would you like to do after you graduate, Draco?" Amelia asks.

"I suppose I'm going to help run the family business."

Amelia sighs.

"Me too... but what would you do if you had the choice?"

"I guess... I think I would like to be a healer."

Hermione wants to tell him that's what he should do then, but she knows it will start them into the family devotion debate, and she doesn't want to spoil dinner. She's surprised when Lucas speaks up from beside her.

"Have you spoken to your family about what you want?" Lucas asks.

"Well, no, but I know what is expected of me."

"You should do what makes you happy," Lucas says, but so quietly only Hermione hears him.

"What would you do if you had a choice?" Draco asks Amelia.

"I'd like to move to Paris and study as a fashion designer... but of course our business is based out of London, so I'll stay here once I graduate."

"What about you, Lucas?" Hermione asks.

"I've never wanted anything other than protecting the family legacy."

As dinner wraps up, Draco explains how he wants to show Amelia the garden and all of the rare plant life.

Taking the hint, Hermione doesn't follow, and finds herself alone with Lucas.

All evening she'd been casually peppering him with questions, testing her theory to see if Lucas is in fact who he said he is. He never faltered once.

Hermione is starting to think that she's losing it, and that she completely missed the mark on believing that Lucas is Lucius in disguise.

_You could be throwing away a chance with a great guy because you're caught up on a death eater._

But then she remembers the look on Lucas' face when Draco talked about going into the family business rather than what he truly wants.

"Would you like to see the library?" she asks. "It's my favorite room in the manor."

"I'd love to."

As she leads the way, she has an idea.

_A dumb idea,_  she tells herself.  _A very dumb idea._

"So, you must have had Professor Kettlehawk for Transfiguration? I've read all of his essays. Ilvermorny is lucky to have him."

"If you've read all his essays, you must know that Professor Kettlehawk stopped teaching Transfiguration a decade ago. He spends all his time now on independent research."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"You know, Hermione," Lucas says as the enter the library, "if I didn't know any better I would think all of your little questions tonight were some sort of quiz."

"Why would I do that?" she asks, strolling over towards one of the couches.

"I'm sure I have no idea."

Lucas follows her, stopping right in front of one of the love seats, and before she can lose her courage, Hermione throws her new plan into action.

She turns abruptly to face him, grabs the front of his robes, and stands on tip-toes to place a fierce kiss on his lips.

Lucas freezes beneath her touch, shocked by the sudden onslaught.

"What's wrong?" she murmurs, breath hot across his lips.

"Hermione..." he whispers.

She doesn't give him a chance to continue.

Pressing hard against his chest, Hermione pushes Lucas down to sit on the couch. Hiking her long skirt up a bit, she climbs onto his lap, tucking a leg on either side of his thighs.

"We've talked enough, don't you think?" She asks, before leaning in to kiss him again.

_If it's Lucius he'll push me away..._

_And if it isn't..._

Coherent thought burns away as Lucas returns her fervor, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

Every nerve in her body is on fire and the logical part of her brain grows quieter and quieter.

Lucas pulls away only to lower his lips to her neck, and Hermione tosses her head back reveling the nips of his teeth and the warmth of his mouth.

Beneath her she can feel his rock hard length and a sense of power surges through her at the knowledge that  _she_  did that.

Experimentally, Hermione rocks her hips forward and back, eliciting a groan from Lucas and she can't stop the smile that spreads across her face.

She almost forgets why she started this.

"We shouldn't," he rasps.

"Why not?" she asks, rocking her hips again.

"It's... we..."

"We what?" she presses, placing her hands gently on his face and raising his head to look at her. "It's just a bit of fun."

She can see him struggling to find the words.

"It's improper," he says lamely.

"Are you worried my big bad death eater uncle will come after you?" she asks. "Because I assure you he is otherwise occupied."

"How would you know?"

"Let's just say I'm  _on top_ of the situation," she replies pointedly.

Lucas stares at her for a moment before sighing and mumbling an incantation under his breath.

Right before her eyes his features shift and blur, his dark hair lightening and growing longer, the shade of his eyes turning to blue, the slim thighs beneath her shift and stretch, becoming wider and more muscled.

Hermione blinks her eyes, trying to focus, and suddenly the face in front of her belongs to Lucius.

"You really are too clever for your own good," he drawls, all hint of American accent gone.

Feeling triumphant in her discovery, it takes Hermione a moment to realize she's still cupping his face. She drops her hands immediately.

"I knew it was you. Why are you parading as some American suitor? What are you doing?" she demands.

"If you knew it was me, what are  _you_  doing?" he counters, running his eyes over her reminding her of where she sits, perched on his lap.

She blushes, but doesn't climb off of him.

"I had to prove it was you so I knew I wasn't crazy. I knew you would stop before things... went to far."

"That's an awfully big gamble. What if you were wrong? Or what if I hadn't stopped?" he asks.

"Not to brag, but I'm rarely wrong."

"Had you been, though, would you have sacrificed your virginity to some American you just met trying to prove a point?"

"Who ever claimed I was a virgin?" she counters, not really thinking her confession through, just wanting to shut him up.

"Merlin, don't tell me you slept with that Weasley brat?" Lucius asks after a short pause.

"No, I-, it's none of your business! You answer  _my_ question! Why are you in disguise as a suitor? Are you trying to spy on Draco?"

"Draco? I'm not here for Draco, I'm here for you."

"I don't understand," she sighs, growing more frustrated by the second in more ways than one.

She can still feel his hardness beneath her, and despite telling herself that it's just a physical reaction to having a young woman jump him in the library, part of her wonders if he may actually want her.

"I told you I trust Draco to find a bride by his birthday, but I don't think it is fair of Narcissa to give you so short a time frame. Lucas Bradbury is your way out, my little Gryffindor. Spend more time with him-"

"You," she interjects.

"- and then tell Narcissa you wish to marry Lucas. She'll attempt the binding but it won't hold because Lucas isn't real. Your birthday will pass, and she won't be able to force you into a marriage once you're of age."

She considers his plan and realizes it might just work.

"That's... brilliant," Hermione admits excitedly, trying to ignore Lucius' smug smile. "Isn't this risky for you? What if someone finds out the truth?"

"No riskier than spying on the Dark Lord."

Some of Hermione's excitement falls as she realizes Lucius is probably doing this to win her over further just to get her to speak to the Order.

He reaches up and gently grasps her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not doing this for the Order," he says, as if reading her thoughts. "I'm doing it for you."

She nods lightly and he drops his hand.

"Thank you, Lucius."

"No ne-," he starts, but is interrupted by the library door creaking open.

Hermione doesn't hesitate, once more she lunges forward to capture his lips, only this time it's Lucius who meets her, not Lucas.

With Hermione's back to the door, her sudden attack of affection blocks Lucius from view.

"Oh, shit.. sorry to interrupt, cousin. Mother is ready to draw this evening to a close, so finish up quick and join us in the study," Draco laughs.

When the door closes, Hermione pulls away biting back a groan.

It takes everything she has to meet Lucius' eyes.

At first she thinks it's fury in his gaze, but part of her recognizes it as hunger and a shiver runs down her spine.

"Sorry," she mumbles, the tendrils of embarrassment snaking into her stomach.

"My dear, a kiss like that never requires apology," he replies.

Clumsily, Hermione climbs off of Lucius lap. She can hear him murmuring under his breath and the next thing she knows she's once more looking at Lucas Bradbury.

Even knowing that Lucas is in fact Lucius, she feels suddenly less self conscious.

While the Lucas facade is handsome, he doesn't have the same predatory beauty of Lucius, who reminds her of an avenging angel.

_Or maybe a fallen one._

Or perhaps looking at Lucas has the advantage because his face doesn't immediately pull beautiful images of Narcissa to her mind, reminding her that no matter the clothes and hair taming spells, Hermione is still an awkward young girl.

As they walk to the study arm-in-arm, despite her best attempt to ignore the intruding thoughts... she also can't help but compare kissing Lucas to her brief encounter with Lucius sans disguise.

Kissing Lucas had been exciting and invigorating, even not knowing for sure that he wasn't who he said. Kissing Lucius, though... had been a religious experience.

She never knew something as simple as kissing could set her whole body ablaze.

"Ah, there you are!" Narcissa greets as they enter the study.

Hermione smiles politely and wonders if Narcissa can feel the betrayal rolling off of Hermione in waves.

_I kissed my aunt's husband._

"Miss Owlbrook has just invited you and Draco to the theatre Wednesday night," Narcissa tells her, oblivious after all.

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione replies.

"You are more then welcome to join us as well, Lucas," Amelia offers politely.

"Any chance to spend more time with you two lovely ladies will be gladly accepted."

After they show their guests out, Lucas leaving Hermione with a lingering kiss on the back of her hand, Narcissa starts peppering Draco and Hermione with questions.

"How did it go? What do you think?"

"Mother, please. Give us a small modicum of privacy," Draco pleads.

"Hermione it's really not proper for you to be alone with Lucas," Narcissa continues, "though I will lay blame of that with Draco."

"What did I do?" he protests.

"You left them alone and led Miss Owlbrook off into the dark garden, which is also highly inappropriate."

"She's from a family of Alchemists, honestly  _we_ were just looking at the plants."

Hermione shoots him a dirty look for his loaded inflection.

"And what were you and Mr. Bradbury doing in the library?" Narcissa asks Hermione.

Trying, and failing, not to blush, Hermione opens her mouth to lie, but Draco beats her to the punch.

"Merlin, mother, what do you think they were doing? Hermione in a library? When I walked in she was sniping at Lucas not to touch some old book with his bare hands. You know, dear cousin, you catch more flies with honey."

Narcissa shakes her head and chuckles.

"I think she's doing just fine without your advice, Draco. Mr. Bradbury seemed quite eager to join you all on Wednesday. Well, off to bed you too. Busy day tomorrow!"

Heading upstairs together, Hermione shoots Draco a sideways glance.

"You didn't have to cover for me, but thank you," she says.

"Are you kidding? I'm just thrilled you're finally doing things that require covering up. Let loose of the goody two-shoes and let that Black family rebellion out a little. Besides," he adds with a mischievous smirk, "you can repay me by covering for Amelia and I Wednesday."

"We're not going to the theatre?"

"Amelia snagged a pair of backstage passes to the Weird Sisters. Mother would never agree to let me go, so we made up the theatre thing. But look at the bright side! You and your library lover Lucas will have the whole evening to yourselves without anyone looking over your shoulder."

He winks.

As they part and head to their own bedrooms, Hermione can't figure out if it is excitement or dread bubbling in her stomach.

 

* * *

**Author's Note:** I really don't want to sound like I'm fishing for compliments, but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter more than I enjoyed writing it lol. I don't know how many times I rewrote the "reveal" until finally I decided just to move on. Next chapter will be up soon (it's coming along much smoother)!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Monday evening, after a long day of entertaining, Hermione is only too glad to retreat to her room.

Today she and Draco had hosted the Pierce Twins, a boy and girl the same age as them. Pureblood, of course, but the pair had been home schooled all their life.

It had been one of the more excruciating days in her recent memory. The twins were absolutely the most boring people she'd ever met. Draco had actually fallen asleep during lunch while one of them had been telling a story. Hermione had used a mild stinging hex under the table to wake him.

That had been the liveliest part of the day.

Now alone in her room, Hermione decides to ring up the boys and see how things are going for them.

As their faces appear crowded next to each other in the mirror, Hermione feels her spirits lift. All the stress and boring lunch dates are bearable as long as she can still see her friends.

"Hermione!" Harry chimes excitedly, "How are you? It's been ages! Are you alright? What's going on?"

"Slow down," she laughs, "I can only answer one question at a time. I'm... doing good. How are you two?"

"Busy," Harry sighs. "Mrs. Weasley is working us ragged to get things ready for the wedding."

"Ooh, I bet. Wish I was there to help!"

"You are coming to the wedding, right?" Harry asks.

"Yes, I'll be there. I can't wait to see you. I just wish I could be there for your birthday, Harry."

"I know you want to be, and that's what counts. Besides, we're just doing a small gathering for dinner… and I'll see you the next day."

Hermione nods, a little sad.

"So, what's new on the warfront? Anything you can share with me?" she asks, eager for news.

Harry's face grows grim and Ron looks away from the mirror.

"What? What happened?"

"A muggle family was snatched late last night. No warning, just gone. Traces of dark magic all over the place," Ron says, finally speaking up.

Hermione clasps a hand over her mouth.

"Don't worry though," Harry insists, "we were listening in earlier, and Snape knows where they're being held. Somewhere over in Surrey. The Order's going to go get them later tonight."

"You'd think if he knew where they were, he'd have known enough to stop them from being taken in the first place," Ron grumbles.

Hermione opens her mouth, but someone shouting for Harry interrupts her.

"Be right back," he says, passing the mirror to Ron.

"So…" Hermione stalls.

She's unsure what to say to him. The last time they spoke privately he had wanted to discuss their tenuous relationship, and while it's something she had previously been eager for, she's not so sure now.

Ron doesn't give her a choice in the matter.

"Look, I know it's probably not a good time, but we haven't really had any of those recently, and I'm not sure there are going to be any soon, so I just wanted to ask… do you… are you…" he stumbles, "is there something between us? I know you're one of my best friends and I might be mucking everything up by opening my mouth, but I had to ask. I need to know if there's more between us, or if I'm mad for even thinking it."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighs, biting her lip.

She's completely unprepared for what to say to him. Yes, she acknowledges inwardly, there has—  _had?_ — been something growing between them that surpassed the line of friendship, and she has  _wanted_  them to be so much more than friends… but right now there are so many larger things at play.

"You're not mucking anything up," she assures him, "and you definitely aren't mad. I think things have shifted between us in the last year and they have highlighted a possibility for something more for us… but for now, the timing is wrong to explore that possibility. We need to focus on supporting Harry, and doing all we can to win this war."

Ron looks crestfallen, and she feels guilty for not being able to say what he wants to hear.

"You're sure that's the reason you don't want to talk about this? There's not somebody else, is there?" he asks.

Her mind pulls up an image of Lucius.

"No," she says. "There's no one else."

He nods, though he doesn't look convinced.

She wants to say something else, something to reassure him, but a light knock on her door draws her attention away.

"I'm going to have to call you back," she whispers, before tucking the mirror away.

After dropping her wards Hermione answers the door.

Quickly pushing her aside, Lucius let's himself in, closing and warding the door behind him. A wave of his cologne hits her and her knees go weak.

She hasn't seen him since the evening of their encounter in the library.

"You're here about the muggles," she says, reading his anxious expression.

"You know about that?" Lucius asks. "It wasn't in the paper."

"The mirror," she explains. "The Order knows the family is being kept in Surrey, they're going after them tonight."

"Surrey? No, they're being held Kent."

"S- Our spy was told Surrey."

"I was told directly by the Dark Lord where the muggles were being held."

Hermione bites her lower lip.

"Just... hold on a second."

Hermione retrieves the mirror and cast  _muffliato_  in Lucius' direction.

He sighs dramatically, but says nothing.

"Ron? Harry?" she whispers into the mirror.

Harry appears almost instantly.

"You're back," he smiles.

"I need Arthur."

His smile disappears, and he nods solemnly rushing off without question.

A few moments later Arthur's face appears in the mirror.

"If this is about the missing muggles, don't worry we know," he says reading her worried face.

"Where were you told they were located?" she asks.

Arthur frowns.

"Hermione, you know I can't-"

"Were you told Surrey or not?" she interrupts.

"I'm going to have a talk with those boys. It's really nothing against you, Hermione... but we aren't supposed to be sharing-"

"Damn it, Arthur!" she exclaims frustrated. "Just answer the question! Were you told Surrey?"

The shock of her outburst startles him into answering.

"Yes, Severus said Surrey."

"How does he know? Where did he hear it?"

"He says Voldemort was boasting about their location to him."

"Shit," she groans.

"Hermione, what is going on?" Arthur demands, coming back to himself.

"You can't go," she says weakly. "You can't save them."

Remus appears in the mirror beside Arthur.

"Why not, Hermione?" he asks, clearly having been listening.

"It's a trap."

"We know it's going to be well guarded," Remus says, "that this is most likely a ploy to get us out in the open, but we're more than prepared."

"It's not a trap for the Order," she tells them. "It's a test for his own. He's looking for spies. My... source told me the muggles were being held in Kent, and that this information comes directly from the Dark Lord."

Arthur swears under his breath.

"He gave them all different locations... so if we show up at one he'll know who leaked it," Remus sighs.

"What do we do?" Arthur asks.

"Nothing," Hermione whispers, eyes prickling. "We can't risk our sources... they've saved so many lives already."

"So we let an innocent family die?" Remus scoffs.

"They're probably already dead. Take this info to the rest of the Order. It's their decision," she tells them.

Arthur and Remus put her on hold, and Hermione looks over to find Lucius watching her intently, trying to read her body language in place of being able to hear her.

She can tell from the set of his jaw he knows something is wrong.

It's only a few minutes before Arthur returns.

"Dumbledore agrees with you, Hermione. He says it's too risky to go after that family. We can't risk our sources. The Order is standing down."

His voice is bitter and it tears at Hermione's heart as if she is to blame.

Unable to respond Hermione nods and ends the call, tucking the mirror away once more.

She drops the spell and Lucius comes over immediately.

"What is going on? Is the Order getting ready to go?"

Hermione shakes her head.

"They didn't believe you?" he asks, confused.

She explains what she told Arthur and Remus, about how the different locations are probably meant to be a trap.

Lucius seems surprised.

"Don't worry," she says, "he probably doesn't specifically suspect you... I expect he told everyone a different location."

"What if you're wrong? Not about him suspecting me, but about the this being a test? Maybe the Dark Lord misspoke when he was talking to me, or maybe your spy misheard. Is the Order really going to risk the safety of an innocent family?"

"It was my idea not to go after them," she admits, even if she suspects Dumbledore would have come to the same conclusion on his own.

She still feels awful for being the first to voice it.

"You can't be okay with it, though."

"If it protects you... both of you, our spies... then it's not really a difficult choice."

Lucius doesn't reply.

"Any other news?" Hermione asks with a weary sigh.

"Not really. The Dark Lord is still furious about McNair's escape. He's searching everywhere."

"You're not still being punished, are you?"

"Don't fret, my dear. I can handle myself."

They're both silent, not knowing what else to discuss, but neither wanting to be alone.

"Thank you," she tells him finally.

"Whatever for?"

"For bringing me news on the muggle family."

"What little good that did," he scoffs.

"Still, though, thank you for trying."

Lucius sighs and nods.

"I should probably go. You need your rest."

"I won't be able to sleep," she says softly.

"Would you… like me to stay a while longer?" he asks uncertainly.

Hermione briefly considers putting on a brave face and telling him she'll be fine, but when she meets his gaze and sees a weariness to match her own she knows he's feeling the same soul-squeezing pressure as her.

"If you don't mind, I  _would_ like it if you stayed."

"How shall we occupy ourselves?" he asks with an exaggerated smirk.

"Have you ever played scrabble?"

Jumping off the bed, Hermione digs through her belongings until she finds her shrunken game. She restores it to normal size with a flick of her wand and hurries back to the bed.

"I can hardly ever get Harry or Ron to play. They hate losing."

She sets the board up in the middle of the bed and explains the rules to a very bemused Lucius. After they draw their tiles, Hermione lies down on her side and makes herself comfortable.

After the first game (which she wins, though not by as much as she does with the boys), Lucius finally caves, kicking off his shoes, and removing his cloak to make himself more comfortable. He lies down on his side across from Hermione, and she has to bite back a giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation.

_I'm lying in bed with a partially dressed Lucius Malfoy playing a muggle board game. What is this world coming to?_

"'Jeep' is not a word," Lucius argues as Hermione plays off of the triple word square.

"Yes it is, it's a muggle vehicle."

"Oh is it?"

"Are you questioning my honesty?" she asks, feigning outrage.

"Hmmph."

He places his own tiles.

"What, may I ask, is 'Jinqa'?" she questions.

"Jinqa is a term for a blanket knit by a house elf."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"You're making that up!" she accuses.

"Are  _you_ questioning  _my_  honesty?"

Lucius clutches his chest dramatically.

"Fine," she shrugs, "I suppose I could just ask a house elf."

She opens her mouth to summon Kinny.

"Oh, alright fine."

Lucius removes the pieces and scouts out another spot.

Almost three hours and four games later (all but one won by her), Hermione can't keep her eyes open and falls asleep with her head resting on her arms, face turned towards her remaining tiles.

Asleep, she doesn't see the soft smile grace Lucius' lips as he watches her, eyes tracing over her face.

He quietly picks up the game pieces and puts almost all of them back in the box.

Lucius retrieves a throw blanket from her couch and gently lays it over Hermione's sleeping form before letting himself out of the room.

The next morning Hermione wakes and stretches, yawning loudly. As she looks across to the other side of her bed she notices a scattering of scrabble tiles.

She can't suppress her laugh as she reads the message left for her.

"U OWE ME A REMATCH"

Her good mood follows her all the way to breakfast, right up until she sees the Prophet and the front-page story about a muggle family found dead in Sussex.

Appetite gone, Hermione spends the rest of the morning wandering the gardens, contemplating the savagery of war and her own reactions to it.

When she read the article, she realized that while she was saddened by the murders themselves, she was most upset by Voldemort's trap. Hermione found herself not thinking about the loved ones of the family that was slain, but about Voldemort's growing paranoia and how much harder it's going to be to gather useful intelligence.

_Have I truly become this desensitized that I can easily set aside the slaughter of innocent children in order to strategize? Who am I becoming?_

Her thoughts drift to Narcissa, who's head is buried in the sand, and Hermione considers that perhaps that is the only way to retain who you are in the face of such daily horrors.

With their busy social calendar, Hermione hasn't spent much time with Narcissa lately.

Her anger towards her aunt over being made to choose a husband has lessened since Lucius revealed his plan to get Hermione out of her forced nuptials.

It's not faded entirely, however, and Hermione has found it hard to try bridging the gap that formed between Narcissa and herself.

As if summoned by her thoughts, during her wandering Hermione finds her aunt sitting in the garden enjoying a cup of tea.

"Oh," she says when Narcissa spots her, "I didn't know you were out here."

"If you had you would have avoided me, I'm sure," Narcissa says with a sad smile.

She wants to disagree, but Hermione sees no point in lying to a Slytherin.

"Please, join me," Narcissa offers, gesturing to a seat across from herself and summoning another cup of tea.

Seeing no polite alternative, Hermione sits.

"I know you're angry with me," her aunt says, stirring more sugar into her tea. "You think I'm being cruel and unfair by asking you to choose your future in so short a time."

Hermione says nothing, and instead sips her drink.

"I promise that what I'm doing, I do  _for_  you. I want to protect you."

"How is stealing my freewill protecting me?"

"There is so much you don't understand yet about your new status. People are going to climb over one another for an opportunity to get to you… to use you."

"And that's not what's happening now? You're not using me to keep the Black family relevant? You're not trying to sell me off? You're asking me to choose someone I hardly know to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who wants me for my name, my blood, and the Black fortune."

"I am offering you a life of honesty!" Narcissa argues. "You are a beautiful young woman from a powerful family. You will never truly know the motives of the people you meet. You may meet someone and think yourself in love, and for all you know they could be using you, lying to you, to get what they want."

Narcissa reaches across the table to take Hermione's hand.

"This way, you go into your future with a clear understanding of what your spouse wants. Perhaps it's not a marriage built on love, but it's built on honesty and respect, and those things are much longer lived."

Her expression is so earnest and endearing, Hermione knows that Narcissa truly believes what she's saying. She really is trying to do what she thinks is best for Hermione.

Knowing her aunt is acting out of love, and that no matter what Lucius' plan will save her, Hermione decides to drop the subject of marriage completely and go back to trying forge a bond with her new family.

She nods slightly at Narcissa and sighs.

"So," she starts, "how are things going with the business holdings in France? Have there been any more issues recently?"

Narcissa beams brightly at the mundane topic, knowing it's Hermione's way of reaching back out, and starts to fill her in.

Later at dinner, Hermione can practically feel Draco's relief when he hears Hermione and Narcissa talking to one another again, and she must admit she's a bit relieved herself.

She didn't realize how much she was missing that connection.

Afterwards, Draco walks her to her room.

"Thank Merlin you two are back on speaking terms," he says. "If I had to spend one more dinner talking about the consistency of mashed parsnips to fill the silence I was going to hex myself."

Hermione laughs and elbows him.

"If you didn't, I would have."

They pause outside her bedroom door.

"So, tomorrow is Wednesday," Draco reminds her. "Have you told Mr. Bradbury you two will have the evening to yourselves?"

"No, not yet. I suppose it will be a surprise."

"Make it a real surprise and wear something lacy under your robes."

Hermione scoffs and shoves Draco.

"You're awful," she scolds halfheartedly.

"Yeah, but now you're thinking about it," he counters before wishing her goodnight.

 

* * *

**Author's Note:** Happy Holidays! Today I'm posting two chapters! :O

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Most of Wednesday passes in a blur of anxiety and anticipation.

Hermione can't help but wonder if Lucius will be angry to be part of the cover story allowing his son to sneak off with some girl.

_It's Lucius,_ she reminds herself,  _if anything he'll be angry he wasn't involved in planning the cover story to ensure Draco doesn't get caught._

When it's time to go, Hermione meets Draco and Narcissa in the study that serves as an apparation point in the Manor. Since Hermione and Draco are both underage, they are being picked up by Amelia and 'Lucas' so they can side-along apparate.

"You two are to be on your best behavior tonight," Narcissa reminds them for the tenth time. "And you are to come straight home after the show. Normally I would chaperone an event like this, but I'm counting on you two to keep an eye out for one another."

"Yes, mother, we get it. Hermione and I both promise to try our hardest not to have sex tonight," Draco says, rolling his eyes.

"Draco!" Narcissa scolds.

Right on cue Amelia apparates in, preventing Narcissa from going on what was certain to be a long tirade.

"Amelia, you look lovely," Draco coos with a smile, sidestepping his angry mother to greet his date.

Narcissa takes a deep breath and opens her mouth once more, but this time it's Lucas who pops in and interrupts her.

"Good evening," he tells them all jovially, offering a slight bow.

"Well, mother, we don't want to be late so we should be off," Draco insists, reaching out to grab Hermione's arm.

He pulls her over, practically pushing her into Lucas' arms.

"See you in the theatre district!"

Amelia takes Draco's hand and turns on the spot, whisking him away.

Not wanting to be left alone with Narcissa's bubbling temper, Hermione grabs Lucas' hand and wishes Narcissa a good evening.

Taking her lead, Lucas apparates them out of the manor and a moment later Hermione opens her eyes to see a large theatre house looming over her.

"Alright," Draco says, causing Hermione to jump and spin to face him. "We'll meet you back here in… let's say four and half hours. Have fun you two!"

He shoots them a wink before Amelia grabs his hand and the disappear once more.

Lucas arcs an eyebrow at Hermione.

"I feel as if I missed something."

"Okay, so apparently Amelia actually has two back stage passes for the Weird Sisters concert and Narcissa would never agree to let Draco go, so they made up the theatre thing so we can cover for them. I promise I didn't know when they invited us."

Lucas sighs.

"And I was rather looking forward to going to the theatre tonight. It's been ages since I was out of the manor, and even if I have to do so wearing the body of a stranger, it's better than nothing," he says. "Perhaps we can still get tickets to a show?"

"Actually," Hermione says slowly, pausing to bite her lip, "I had an idea of what we could do, and if you wanted you could remove your disguise."

"Are you trying to get me sent back to Azkaban? I will be recognized."

"Not where we're going."

"And where exactly is that?" he asks disbelievingly.

"Muggle London."

Lucas opens his mouth and closes it several times before he can finally respond.

"You want…  _me_ … to spend the evening in  _muggle_  London?"

Hermione looks up at him with large pleading eyes.

"Please? Think about it, if we stay here you have to stay in disguise… and I don't know if I'm ready to deal with being 'Hermione Black' in the public eye. In muggle London, we're both invisible. We're both free."

"Are you sure this isn't just a way to try to indoctrinate me to your beliefs?"

"Well obviously," she jokes, "but that's just a side-effect."

He stares at her, studying her eager expression, before letting out a quiet groan.

"You must tell no one about this," he orders.

Squealing with delight, Hermione hops up and down on the balls of her feet.

"You take lead on apparation, I have no idea where we're going."

Hermione quickly sets a timer charm as a reminder, and takes Lucas' hand and turns on the spot.

They land discreetly in a side alley, unseen despite being mere feet from the bustling sidewalk.

The sudden onslaught of noise hits them both with a shock, even though Hermione had been preparing herself for it. Even the busiest wizarding street is no comparison for the sounds of London traffic.

Lucas wears a distasteful expression that carries all the way through his transformation back into Lucius.

Hermione slips off her outer robe revealing a knee length dress she picked to blend in with the crowds.

"Give me your robe," she says, packing hers into what seems to be a beaded bag far too small to fit such a large garment.

"We haven't even had dinner yet, surely you can wait to get me unclothed?" he says slyly.

"Ha ha. You don't exactly blend in with the muggles."

"I should hope not."

"Give me your robe. Your vest, shirt, and pants are fine. You'll look a bit posh, but normal enough."

Mumbling as he does so, Lucius removes his robe and passes it to Hermione so she can unceremoniously shove it into her bag.

"Ready?" she asks cheerily, sealing her bag.

"Not really."

"Perfect," she smiles, snaking her arm around his and pulling him out of the alley onto the crowded sidewalk.

Once they join the crowd Lucius tightens his grip on Hermione, clamping her to his side as if he's afraid to lose her.

She wants to make a joke about him being scared of muggles, but his pale pallor stops her.

_This is a big deal for him,_ she reminds herself.  _Lucius Malfoy interacting with muggles in an everyday environment._

They walk several blocks down, Hermione leading him to a favorite restaurant of hers called  _The Lounge._

"How about that dinner?" she asks leading him in.

While it may not meet Lucius extravagant culinary standards, she and her parents always viewed this place a special treat when visiting the city.

Lucius looks relieved when they step inside, and Hermione can relate. After an extended stay in the country, the city does seem a bit overwhelming.

The hostess smiles warmly, and nods in their direction..

"Just the two of you this evening?" she asks, eyeing the both of them.

She's quick to scan and dismiss Hermione, but her eyes widen and linger as she openly admires Lucius. When he doesn't seem to notice her attention, the hostess glances back at their intertwined arms.

"Just us," Hermione replies. "Can we get a table in the back?"

With a quiet sigh the hostess nods and leads them through the restaurant to more secluded booths in the back.

She drops their menus on the table and disappears without another word.

Lucius is quick to open his and disappear behind it.

"You're awfully quiet over there."

He lowers his menu slightly so Hermione can see him.

"I thought you said I'd blend in! That woman was staring at me."

She can't help it; Hermione bursts into laughter.

"How is this in any way funny?" he demands.

"Lucius, muggles and witches really aren't that different. We both appreciate a gorgeous man when presented with one."

As soon as she says it, she wants to hex herself.

Lucius sets his menu down and arches a brow at her.

"So you think I'm gorgeous?" he asks.

All worry is gone from his voice and he has switched into full 'mischievous Lucius' mode.

"Well… I mean… objectively I suppose I can see why  _others_ would find you attractive. Until you open your mouth."

She waits for him to make a lewd quip about his open mouth, but instead he surprises her.

"Speaking of attractiveness, I didn't get a chance to mention earlier, but you look lovely tonight."

"Oh, um, thank you," she stumbles, cheeks heating.

Their waiter arrives and Lucius orders an expensive bottle of wine Hermione can't pronounce, and even ventures to asking about the specials for the evening.

"You were... very polite," Hermione notes after they place their order.

"Were you expecting me to immediately curse the wait staff?" he asks. "If so, I must question your true intentions for bring me out among the muggles."

"Well no, of course I didn't think you would hurt anyone. I guess I just expected you to be a bit, well, colder."

"My dear, let me teach you two very important rules. One, never insult those who handle your food. Two, always remain a gentleman when on a date."

Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her wine, snorts into her glass.

"This is not a date," she corrects him, ignoring the way her rate speeds up.

"Isn't it? Here I thought you and Mr. Bradbury were getting on quite well."

"Lucas Bradbury isn't  _real_. And if you recall, you and I are related," she counters.

"By marriage."

"Exactly! Your marriage. To my  _aunt_."

Before Lucius can reply, the waiter returns with their dinner. He places a beautiful plate of roasted swordfish in front of Lucius, and an equally appetizing plate of duck confit before Hermione.

To his credit, if he heard any of their conversation, their waiter manages to keep his face expressionless.

Hermione is about to continue with her list of many reasons they are  _not_  on a date, but Lucius cuts her off.

"You should know by now that I am only teasing you," he says. "I would have let you go on, but I didn't wish for my meal to grow cold."

She glares at him as he takes a bite of his fish.

"Mmm," Lucius delights, "delicious."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione starts on her own food.

She always orders the same thing when she comes here, and as she takes her first bite she's flooded with memories of dinners with her parents.

They brought her here after their first shopping trip to Diagon Alley to purchase her school supplies.

_A lifetime ago._

"Hermione?"

She looks up from her plate to find Lucius watching here with concern.

"Hmm?"

Raising a hand to her cheek she feels the track of a single tear.

"Oh, I'm fine," she insists, wiping the tear away.

"Hermione."

All he says is her name, but his tone conveys so much more.

_Talk to me,_ it says,  _I'm here. Let me help._

"I was thinking of my parents. They brought me here after we went shopping for my first year at Hogwarts. I was so excited I could hardly sit still. I just wanted to start reading my schoolbooks," she says, smiling sadly. "Mum told me I had to wait until we got home. I remember being so upset when she ordered us dessert to celebrate instead of taking us straight home."

Lucius chuckles softly.

"I wrote to mum and dad a lot that first semester of school. I mostly talked about all I was learning, I didn't like to linger over the fact I had no friends. I didn't want them to worry," she explains. "But one day, a few weeks in, Draco called me a mudblood when I beat him for top marks in Transfiguration. I didn't know what it meant, so I went to the library to find out. I didn't know there was anything different about me until then. That some people would always see me as less-than. I wrote mum, sobbing, tear stains all over the parchment, to tell her what I'd discovered."

"What did she say?" Lucius asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

"She told me to be strong, and continue my studies. That if I pushed hard enough I could prove I belonged. At the time I took it to heart... but now, all I can see is that my mother couldn't tell a brokenhearted eleven-year-old girl that there was a chance she might not be an outcast."

He sighs.

"Speaking as a parent who has quite possibly not always made the best decisions for their child, I can promise that no matter what, those decisions do come from the best intentions. I'm not agreeing with what she did... but perhaps you could keep in mind that despite it all, she did what she did because she loves you."

Surprisingly enough, his words do offer her comfort, and Hermione finds herself less saddened by the memory.

"Thank you," she tells Lucius. "I'm sorry I spoiled our evening of freedom by being so dramatic."

Her tone is light and self-depreciating, but he can see through it.

Lucius reaches across the table to rest his hand atop hers.

"You need never apologize to me, my dear."

She smiles softly, and they finish their meals in companionable silence.

"Might I suggest we skip dessert?" Lucius asks, drawing a loud barking laugh from Hermione.

When the bill arrives Hermione begins to search through her bag for her wallet, but Lucius beats her to it and pulls out a black plastic credit card.

"What is that?" she asks, shocked.

"I believe it's called a platinum credit card? This is how some muggles pay for things, isn't it?"

"I know what it is, I mean, why do you have one?"

"I'm Lucius Malfoy," he says simply. "I've rarely found a situation that money cannot solve. I like to be prepared."

Lucius seems quite pleased with himself at having surprised her, though most of his swagger disappears as they prepare to exit back out onto the busy streets of London.

He wraps his arm about Hermione's firmly gluing her to his side once more.

"Where to next?" he asks.

"I'm taking you to the movies."

When they get to the cinema, Hermione has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Lucius' mouth hangs open as he looks around at the bright lights and gaudy advertisements that line the lobby.

There are a few different films Hermione would like to see, but most of them would be lost on Lucius with his complete lack of knowledge of the muggle world.

In the end she settles on buying them tickets to see the new animated Hercules.

_Even wizards have knowledge of ancient Greek myths._

After they have their tickets Hermione takes Lucius to the concession stand and gets them a large bucket of popcorn and a couple of Cokes.

"I have to use the Loo, can you hold this?" Hermione asks, handing off her purchases to Lucius.

"You're going to leave me out here alone?" he asks, only sounding slightly panicked.

"You'll be fine. Just don't wander."

When she returns Lucius is standing in the exact same spot, looking as if he hasn't moved an inch, suspiciously eyeing a small child standing less than two feet away.

"Do you have to go?" she asks Lucius.

His cheeks flush and she starts laughing.

_Out of everything, asking Lucius Malfoy if he needs the loo is what embarrasses him._

"Look," she says, "if you don't go now, you might have to during the show, and then you'll have to come out here all by yourself."

Lucius purses his lips, but passes their snack back to her and disappears into the mens room.

A couple of minutes pass and he comes back to Hermione looking utterly perplexed.

"How do they get the wind in those loud little boxes without using magic?" he asks, confused.

"The wh- oh, the hand dryers? They have fans inside, little spinning blades that are powered by electricity. I think they also have some sort of heating element, but I'm really no expert on the actual mechanics."

On the way to their auditorium Lucius peppers her with more questions about electricity, and Hermione tries to explain electrical currents as simply as she can.

She's just started explaining different types of conductors when they reach their seats, but the lights dim and the movie screen comes to life before them.

Lucius gasps as figures fill the screen, telling them to go to the concession stand and purchase more candy.

Hermione stops talking, realizing she no longer has his attention.

There are only a couple previews before the movie starts, and if Lucius was impressed by the live-action projections he's in awe as the animation takes over.

When the Muses start singing his eyes are glued to the screen, and Hermione finds herself watching Lucius more than watching the film itself.

She only interrupts his viewing once, to pass him the popcorn, which he immediately starts to eat by the handful, eyes still entranced by the glowing screen.

Hermione can't help but smile at is every reaction. Every time he laughs, or gasps, jolts slightly in his seat.

When the credits roll and the lights lift, Lucius stays in his seat.

"What did you think?" she asks.

"I... don't understand."

"What?"

"How was this created without magic? That was one of the most powerful illusions I've ever seen."

Lucius shakes his head in awe, still staring up at the screen.

"Muggles have their own brand of magic," she says after a moment. "It's called innovation. Where wizarding society seems content to stay put and refuses to expand on their culture, muggles are always looking to create new things and broaden the horizon."

When he doesn't reply, Hermione gets up and offers him her hand.

"Come on," she says, "we've still got a little time before we have to meet Draco and Amelia. There's a park nearby. Let's go have a walk and enjoy being free and invisible."

The streets are quieter now and Lucius relaxes his death grip on Hermione as they leave the cinema.

He doesn't talk, even after they get to the park and start walking the secluded trails.

"Are you alright?" she asks, growing a bit concerned.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"What about?"

Lucius stops walking and turns towards her, looking down to meet her eyes.

"How lovely an evening it's been."

"Oh," she responds lamely.

"Thank you, Hermione," he says sincerely.

"My pleasure, really."

As she stares up into Lucius' grateful gaze, time seems to slow.

She's no longer Hermione Granger-Black standing across from a Death Eater.

She's just a young woman, on a moonlit stroll, with a man that makes her heart race just by standing near her.

Lucius looks more relaxed than she's ever seen him. His shoulders aren't drooping from the weight they normally carry, his forehead isn't furrowed in concentration, and his eyes are the lightest shade she's ever seen them.

"Lucius?" she asks tentatively. "Why didn't you tell me your plan from the beginning? About pretending to be Lucas to save me?"

She's been wondering since he revealed his true intentions, but hasn't found the right time to ask.

"Well," he replies softly, "part of it was I wasn't sure if you could act well enough to be surprised when 'Lucas' showed up that first night."

"And the other part?"

"I was curious what it would be like to talk to you when you didn't hate me."

Hermione's lips part in surprise.

"I… I don't hate you, Lucius. I'm not sure I ever did. I was fascinated by you. Angered by you. Afraid of you… but I never truly hated you."

"Are you still afraid?" he asks, taking a step closer and reaching out to graze her arm with his fingers.

"I—"

A shrill beeping breaks the moment and Hermione takes a step backwards and clears her throat.

"Um, t-time to go," she says. "You have to become Lucas again."

Lucius nods stiffly and pulls a small flask from his pocket. He takes a sip and Hermione watches him transform into the handsome young man she was supposed to spend the evening with.

Holding hands they apparate back to the meeting point in the wizarding theatre district.

They're the first ones back, and despite being alone, it feels wrong to pick up where they left off while Lucius wears the face of another.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass and still Draco and Amelia don't return.

"Narcissa is going to be furious," Hermione complains. "She's probably pacing circles waiting for us."

"Don't worry, I highly doubt she's even waiting for you. It's more likely she's assigned one of the elves to monitor the time you return."

"How can you be sure?"

"You and Draco both out of the house, and it's her first free evening in how long? She's probably with her lover."

"Don't joke like that," Hermione chastises, smacking Lucas on the arm. "It's rude."

"I wasn't joking."

"Do you really think your wife has a lover?"

"I know she does," he counters. "I walked in on them once a couple years ago. Narcissa and I had been fighting and I still believe she left the door unwarded on purpose. Since then she's been rather straightforward with me about it."

"But… that doesn't bother you? She's your wife!"

"You already know we didn't marry for love. She did her duty and gave me an heir. Do you really think I could begrudge her the comfort she finds with another?"

She knows she shouldn't ask, but Hermione never has mastered the art of  _not_  asking a question.

"Does she begrudge you comfort… you've found with others?"

Lucas looks down, very interested in the button on his sleeve quite suddenly.

"I've yet to find comfort. Distractions, yes, but never comfort."

_Pop!_

Draco apparates beside them with a tall brunette that is certainly not Amelia.

"Thank you," he tells the girl. "You're a lifesaver!"

"Don't forget to owl me, Draco Malfoy," she insists, shooting him a wink before disapparating.

"Who was that?" Hermione asks, dumbfounded. "Where's Amelia?"

Draco scowls.

"You know we had backstage passes? Well, apparently Amelia caught the eye of the drummer for the Weird Sisters. As soon as he showed interest she just abandoned me!"

"She did not!" Hermione gasps.

"I had to search around to find someone willing to apparate me back here."

"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry!"

Draco waves Hermione off.

"Don't. Please. I'm fine, just a bit surprised is all."

"Her loss," Lucas pipes up. "She doesn't know what she's issing."

Draco seems surprised, but just nods at Lucas.

"Thanks, mate. I don't suppose you can take us both home, can you?"

"Of course. We can go now, if you're ready."

Draco steps forward, looking eager to get home, but pauses.

"Oh… just because my night went to shit doesn't mean yours has to. You better get your goodnight snog out the way now, who knows if mum is pacing the study waiting for us."

Hermione's cheeks flush brightly and she glances over at Lucas surreptitiously.

"That's, um, really not necessary," she says.

"Oh come one, don't act all shy now Miss Library. Look, I'll turn away. If you don't have a goodnight kiss because of me I'm going to feel like a complete wanker."

"Draco—"

Draco whistles loudly and turns slightly so he's mostly shifted away from them.

Biting her lip, Hermione turns to look at Lucas. He gives her a half shrug as if to say, " _well, come on then._ "

Not giving her time to back out, Lucas takes a step closer to her and wraps his arms around her. Hermione's breath catches in her throat as he lowers his lips to meet hers.

Her eyes flutter shut and the tendrils of warmth from his lips spread throughout her body. In her mind she doesn't see Lucas, she's sees Lucius in his natural form and her knees go weak.

When Lucas pulls away a moment later, and she reopens her eyes to meet his gaze, and she can't help the sadness that settles in her stomach as the person before her reminds her the image in her mind was false.

_Lucas kissed you… not Lucius._

"Ready?" Lucas asks her and Draco.

He offers them each a hand and apparates them back to the manor.

Luicus was right, Hermione realizes as Kinny, not Narcissa, rushes forward to greet them.

Lucas makes a hasty farewell and disappears, and Draco is quick to follow suit, mumbling goodnight and taking off for his room.

Hermione is left alone with her thoughts, which she is realizing are growing far more dangerous.

She thinks of Lucius asking her if she was still afraid of him.

_No Lucius,_  she thinks,  _I'm not afraid of you… I_ want _you._

__

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd love to hear what you thought of the trip to muggle London! Every review is so appreciated :) Thanks for everyone still reading!


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